Towards Better Things
by Zerbinetta
Summary: The Hawke family leaves Ferelden before the Blight, believing Tevinter to be a better cover for three apostates. But nothing is surrendered easily in Minrathous, least of all tradition and vengeance. Based on a kinkmeme prompt, eventually Hawke/Fenris
1. One

Since the DA2 kinkmeme is momentarily down for updates, I've decided to de-anonymize and post this fic here, as it has a planned ending, is (relatively) short and I've become quite fond of the prompt. Slightly edited, typos corrected. Also, Hawke might end up being named something else than Marian (I'm rather partial to Endellion, Sophronia or Sephestia, but that's yet to be decided).

**o.O.o**

**One**

**o.O.o**

The official dueling chamber in the Spire of Dreams was filled with enough silence for a person to drown in. It wouldn't usually be much of a strange thing; proper, sanctioned duels among those few privileged to enter the archon's fortress were few and far in-between. Magisters were usually less than direct in their approach to resolving disputes among one another. An official duel required many rules to be followed, if only to keep up the appearance of propriety and culture.

None of those rules said a thing about what to do when a no-name refugee from some Fereldan backwater managed to slay one of the most prominent mages in Tevinter in single combat.

Not for the first time since her family's arrival to Minrathous, Hawke found herself wondering if the decision to leave Ferelden behind had truly been a good one. It was hard to hide one apostate, even when continually on the move, true, and hiding three in the same place had been a chore beyond imagining. Many a sleepless nights she had lied to herself and her poor, quietly sobbing sister that everything would be all right, that the templars hadn't almost caught them, that things wouldn't tumble into hell if they made one wrong step.

But the Chantry showed no sign of loosening its grip. And her mother, though she adored her husband beyond all measure, was getting tired of running, even if she never admitted it. It was Father who had made the suggestion; he was the first to acknowledge that running was for the young, and that he wanted safety for his family.

There was only one land in Thedas that looked kindly upon mages and allowed them to wield their powers openly. And so, on a quiet night in early spring, the Hawke family had left their homeland and crossed the border to Tevinter.

With the eyes of the Magisters fixed on her with equal measure astonishment and suspicion, Hawke no longer found the notion of a mage-ruled land so appealing. Templars in Tevinter were all-but-powerless, but there were other perversions in the world just as strong and dangerous. Many of them were in that very room.

Rich robes, angled-faces, both attractive ones and less appealing visages, but all of them free and proud. She felt more like an outsider than she ever had in Ferelden, oddly enough.

Slow clapping broke through the silence, sending a shiver through the room, and the mages altered their expressions as one. The archon regarded her with a slow, snake-like smile, as if pleased by a trick she had performed. Her opponent had promised his high-placed friends entertainment, and they had apparently gotten their fill, if this was anything to go by.

"Well played, Fereldan." The voice coiled around her like a snake, but a pleased one at that. "Perhaps the blood of your ancestors isn't entirely watered down in your veins."

The Amells were a line strong in magic. A connection to Tevinter, no matter how small, hadn't been that much of a surprise, given the proximity of the Free Marches and the Imperium. The memory of that bond was also the only reason she had been allowed to appeal to higher authority when the offense had come to pass. That and the magic in her hands, because without it, she would have been at the mercy of these serpents.

Apparently, some gesture had been made to the nearby seneschal – a slave, most likely, if his swiftness was anything to go by – as a roll of parchment was quickly being unfolded and read aloud.

"By the grace of the Imperium, as governed by the most honorable Archon Hyroniemus," Hawke managed to bite back her snort, fortunately. "The dispute between Magister Danarius and Mistress Hawke has been settled by a duel in the arcane arts, with all those present as witnesses."

A glorified deathmatch with an unexpected victor. Carver wouldn't have managed to hold back his snort. His sister fared a little better in this case. No one in this wretched land had ever called her "mistress" before.

The seneschal proceeded to then ramble on about the circumstances of the duel, official details, boring things and the painful reason Hawke had been dueling in the first place.

Two years. Two years of scheming and running and hiding and _learning_, just so she could stand there and watch as brief eulogy was spoken for the bastard that wasn't even worth having a dog piss on his corpse.

Justice. That was her reason for doing this; the word that had no meaning in Tevinter. There was a translation, of course, and Hawke had managed to master the imperial language after such a long time, but it still unnerved her how much in this Maker-forsaken country could be left up to interpretation. Magic had never disgusted her before.

"In accordance with tradition, the title of the deceased now passes to his vanquisher, by virtue of the magic blood she possesses."

They said that in Tevinter, life was only worth living if you were a Magister. Magic alone wasn't enough, though. And while becoming one certainly wasn't her intention when Hawke had entered this chamber, it was a pleasant surprise to be reminded.

A silence had fallen, if only for a moment; the archon was going to speak once more. Maybe it was tradition that he alone was able to distribute titles. Still, there were those in the chamber who looked ready to skewer her with their eyes alone. But there was no special treatment involved – or perhaps the intention was to show that she was still a foreigner – because the archon merely raised his hand in acknowledgement of her victory.

"You are to be commended for your victory, Magister Aurelia… Hawke." There was a small sneer, smirk-like, ghosting around the archon's face and infecting the room as he spoke her family name. Aurelia wasn't her name. It was a Tevinter name, pompous and imperial; a magister's name, Hawke realized, intended to make her more the part by erasing a bit of her Fereldan heritage. "The Maker has favored you today. I expect to hear much more of you in the future."

That was the dismissal, as everyone was bowing, even though it was the archon himself who left, with his sizeable entourage. But many stayed, and Hawke understood a moment too late that the vultures were now free to descend upon her, not with daggers but with smiles in equal measure.

First were congratulations – too heartfelt, most of them seemed, without a touch of sincerity. And the name echoing in every sentence, Aurelia, Aurelia, Aurelia, as if some profound transformation had taken place and she was no longer plain old-

"Esteemed Magister, I am your most humble servant." A short woman with the eyes of a hyena and the subtlety of an ox had pushed her way into the front of the crowd, drawing some sneering laughter.

"Your eagerness knows no bounds, apprentice." commented a tall mage with mahogany-colored hair curling around his ears – another difference from Ferelden, where most men preferred to cut their hair short whenever possible. "Give our golden lady a moment to breathe." Hawke had been showered with compliments regarding her newly given name and how well it suited her, but few had been accompanied by a stare that would have made her shudder, if she dared show these serpents fear.

It was as if they had decided to completely disregard her previous identity now that there was a new magister among them.

The apprentice gritted her teeth but swallowed her poison, even if she choked a little on the compliment. "A necessity of my position, Magister Phineas, do forgive me. I meant no disrespect. I simply wished to offer my sincere congratulations to your colleague for her ascent. Such a streak of fortune." From that expression, either this woman hated her with a fiery passion born of envy or wanted to drag her to the floor and have her way with her. Hawke wasn't certain which was the worse thought.

What she did know was that she wanted her gone.

"Get to the point." Her cool, non-compromising tone had received much training since coming to Tevinter.

The woman almost tripped over her feet in attempting to both bow and cower, with earned Hawke some measure of approving glances. "Forgive me, Magister; my name is Hadriana. I was apprenticed to the man you slew. As you have now taken his place, I would be your apprentice, if you would have me."

Were she not so surprised, Hawke would have laughed. The word apostate clearly had no meaning here. But she knew how things functioned among the magocracy; to become a magister, one had to be apprenticed to one for years at a time. There were specifics involved, but she would have time to read up about that. Yet if anyone was going to reap any kind of benefit from what these mages clearly perceived as her good fortune, it would be her sister, not some snake she hardly knew.

Still, better safe than sorry.

"Am I obliged to tend to that corpse's leftovers?" she asked her _admirers_ at large, using words that they would plainly understand. Tevinter wasn't just a different language in the sense that words needed to be translated; meaning and metaphor had its own life.

Judging by the general laugh in the small circle, she had used the correct ones.

"You are obliged to do nothing, Aurelia, but you are entitled to her. As apprentices go, Hadriana isn't entirely worthless." The brunette didn't waste a second in thanking the stern mage before he silenced her again with as little as a glare and ignoring her. "There is tradition involved in such things, of course. And without someone who knows the household, it will take you weeks before you see which slaves ought to be tossed aside."

"Household?" Hawke hadn't exactly been living in the seat of luxury for the past few years, even though her mother could have provided well for her. The mention of slaves and such casual cruelty stirred yet another wave of hatred within her, but she ignored it. Teaching Carver magic would have had more effect than lecturing these creatures on dignity.

"As per imperial law, you are entitled to all possessions of the deceased loser of your duel, honored Magister." Hadriana spluttered, as if she had swallowed a book. Since her position was still in jeopardy, there was strain in her smile due to her great haste.

Hawke felt her face go blank, her thoughts drowning out the congratulations and compliments regarding her new lodgings – evidently, many of these mages had been Danarius' friends and had absolutely no problem with forgetting him before his corpse was cold if they gained a new ally that way. Disgusting as most things in Tevinter were, unclean as she felt standing there, one of them, Hawke felt a twinge of hope. Once scrubbed of Danarius' dirt, there would be a home for her family in Minrathous; not the slums, not a single room with barely enough lodging for them, but a palace – and she had no doubt that it would be like that, considering what a pompous bastard its previous owner had been.

Maybe, just maybe, she could make a life in Tevinter, even if she had to play the part to do it. There was also the small consolation that she would no doubt treat whatever slaves (she almost shuddered again) much better than their previous master had. In fact, the more she considered the idea, the more she liked it. This was what she had hoped for upon leaving Ferelden – perhaps more.

"Aurelia?" She would have to learn to react to that name, though, which was an annoyance. "She has not yet seen the spoils of her victory, I imagine!" A small round of laughter, nervously echoed by Hadriana after all the others had finished.

Yes, Hawke realized. She could make this retreat a victory.

"Thank you for your advice, Magister." She couldn't bring herself to be familiar with any of them, especially not those who acted that way with her. "I believe I will take it."


	2. Interlude I

A big thank you for all the reviews and faves and alerts – my email was literally flooded, which certainly took me by surprise.

This chapter wasn't originally on the kinkmeme, because it's gotten a bit plottier than the idea behind the meme and the fic is getting quite wordy without these character insights. However, I did want to explore the dynamics in the Hawke family a little more, along with the backstory that brings them to Tevinter, and it will be done through these interludes. How many there'll be, I can't really say, but they will get intertwined with the narrative whenever it shifts away from Hawke and Fenris.

**o.O.o**

**Interlude I**

**o.O.o**

Leandra Hawke would be the first to agree that she was indeed love's fool.

From an early age, there had been nothing denied to her, nothing she couldn't do or have, and she grew up aware of her privilege. As a young girl, she had been somewhat stuck up, fully conscious of and confident in her talent at anything she set her mind to, be it answering questions about ancient history or being the belle of any ball her parents made her attend.

Then, at a mere nineteen years in the Maker's world, all things changed for her. She had been in the middle of a leisurely stroll through Hightown to the markets, to indulge in a few new ribbons, when she crossed paths with a man who was apparently wearing a dress. Before the thought could register in her mind, she had been pulled into a corner by this strange man and he started talking to her in the manner of a grandfather asking his granddaughter to slow down, that his bones weren't as young as they used to be.

Leandra was almost ready to scream for the band of templars passing by, especially since the man's rather amusing hat betrayed distinctly non-grey hair, but she had been too dumbstruck first and then too… intrigued? She didn't really know, but she could see bits of the man's face under his disguise and there was something imploring about his tone. A cutpurse would have taken her things and ran, but this man…

This man was a mage, she discovered when they were several streets away from the templar patrol, whereupon the man shed his mask of cloth and perhaps magic, and he thanked her as much as he apologized for this impertinence. Leandra laughed at first, despite her own concern, and asked to hear more. He was much younger than his previous hunched posture indicated and not altogether unfortunate-looking.

She found herself sitting in a seedy bar in Lowtown – just in case, as the templars rarely came there – for the first time ever and listened to the mage's tales, jests and thanks.

His name was Malcolm, though just Mal was more than enough, he said with a charming wink. His occupation, she had already guessed, so that wasn't discussed further, especially not in public. He was twenty-four or twenty-five – he couldn't really precisely tell – and he was from Ferelden. That explained his peculiar behavior in part, but Leandra didn't really know if the way he made her laugh was related to his foreign heritage. It was just… so different from the haughty noble little princelings she was supposed to make conversation with, those potential marriage matches.

Mal bought her a drink, despite her protests. She had never had true alcohol before, only watered down wine, despite its fanciness. Her other objection had been that she could easily buy half the pub, but the stubborn mage had insisted. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to live with himself, he had said. The market thoroughly forgotten, Leandra spent hours with the runaway mage at a run-down table among scoundrels, having the time of her life.

Of course, the templars eventually brought him back to the Circle, but he later told her that he didn't view it as a failing. He had been trying to escape Kirkwall and make his way through the Free Marches, but the chance meeting had changed his plans. Leandra returned home that night with her lips still bubbling with laughter and a spring in her step. Even Gamlen's mutterings didn't manage to wear her down.

They began meeting in secret. It was a difficult thing to manage, because her gaining entrance to the Gallows needed a reason beyond "I am the heir of the Amell family." Not that she didn't try, of course, but it was the first time Leandra was finding her path blocked. But she had a purpose now, a desire, and she always went after what she wished.

Their meetings became more frequent. Innocent, at first, because Leandra was wary of magic; she didn't understand it, beyond the fact that it was supposed to be dangerous. But the flowers brought to bloom early for her sake, be it in the wild or in a picture of ice, managed to change her mind. She learned so much, experienced happiness and began to think that perhaps she could be happy with less than jewels and gowns and titles.

Mal had nothing of his own, of course. Nothing of true substance, nothing that could feed a family – and where was she _going_ with such thoughts? He was a mage, confined to the Gallows, and knew no trade other than the one he had been born with. And she, for all her education, had been raised to have things done for her. She couldn't imagine trying to make a living as a seamstress, quick as she was with the needle.

But when the mage kissed her in the shadow of the stars, Leandra tended to forget things as rank and station. She forgot even about magic and the differences in their situation. And she disregarded the great rule her governess had always tried to beat into her head, that her body was meant for her husband only and the Maker would damn her forever if she disobeyed that.

There was a solution to that, of course. She was barely twenty when Mal proposed to her with a ring made of living flowers that wrapped around her finger gently, securely. Daisies were her diamonds and forget-me-nots her sapphires; Leandra was enchanted at once. She had spent many a sleepless night thinking about this moment, imagining how she might respond. The fact that she never told her parents about her secret meetings helped her courage, but didn't really alter her decision.

I cannot give you gold or gowns or palaces, Mal had said. But you'll never lack for love and devotion; I will move the stars themselves to ensure your happiness.

And she, the gullible fool, imagined herself the happiest woman in Kirkwall. Things would surely fall into place without any kind of problem.

She hoped to tell her parents that night at dinner, overjoyed with her good fortune. The house she entered was fit for a celebration, both as a belated party and as a means of introducing her properly to one Guillaume, Comte de Launcet.

Older than her by ten years, the Orlesian noble had fled his country with his family after running afoul of some chevaliers, it seemed. Now, he intended to start afresh in Kirkwall – and what better way than to marry the daughter of the most powerful family in the city? Leandra would have been appalled by the mere sneering smile she was awarded with, as if to say she met the Orlesian's expectations. But she had arrived in the middle of the event dressed much below her station and with a song in her heart.

She took one look at the Comte's prominent widow's peak and darting eyes and displayed her vibrant ring for all to see.

Her parents didn't take it at all well.

Not only was it a societal scandal, her mother rambled hysterically to her, that she had accepted a man's proposal without considering their opinion, but she had embarrassed them before prominent foreigners. Her father was more concerned with the practicalities – the fact that his formerly dutiful daughter had been seeing a man behind their backs, for a year, no less, that this man was a mage of the Circle and a Fereldan at that! A more perfect checklist of unsuitable qualities of her future husband she couldn't have prepared for him even if she tried!

Leandra spent the night sealed in her room, crying bitter tears. They had given her every argument she had already presented to herself and resolved. She still wished to marry this man, this mage, even if it caused her parents such distress. It was still as if love could conquer all.

The servants were under orders not to let her leave, but she managed to sneak a letter to the Gallows through a trusted elf woman who took pity on her. Mal's response was swift and more unconventional, with the paper flying into her room folded into the shape of a songbird.

He intended to leave the Circle, it said. He had only stayed this long because of her and now that it seemed that they couldn't be together if they remained in Kirkwall, there was no reason for him to stay. If she wished, they could call off the engagement – the paper was a little blurry here, though whether due to spilled water or tears she couldn't really tell – and he would leave with his love for her, never to darken her doorstep again.

But… if she was still willing to brave the unknown with him, then he would wait for her for a day at a designated place near the main city gate. The templars would start searching the outskirts first, not the city itself, so he had a little time to get a disguise.

There had been no hesitation.

And so, despite her father's shouts, despite her mother's curses, she had found herself on a ship to Ferelden with her husband, both of them dressed the part of refugees. They were forced to sell her jewels to survive that first year, but they managed relatively well.

Mal's father had been a craftsman, he said, a woodcutter, but to apprentice himself at twenty-six seemed a waste of money and energy to them. Instead, he employed his well-read background to become a bookseller's aide, transcribing works of written word into the night. And Leandra, utilizing all that she knew about gentility and good manners, worked hard to mimic all she remembered of her own chambermaids at whatever lord's estate was nearby.

They lived well, all things considered. Both of them were educated, well-bred (in her case) and greatly resourceful (in his). And then, the village midwife suddenly told her of her pregnancy.

Leandra had known this would be expected of her eventually, but she had supposed that Malcolm's magic would have somehow influenced the effects of their love-making; after all, in the six months they had been together in Kirkwall, she had never become heavy with child, and she could admit with rosy cheeks that it hadn't been due to any chastity on her part.

Mal didn't share her concerns about her being a horrible mother; on the contrary, he added some of his own. Magic passed through blood, he told her, and there was a possibility that their child might inherit his power. It was why a union of two mages was deeply frowned upon by the Chantry and why children born of them were immediately confiscated and watched closely.

The Chantry, they avoided like the Blight. The priests might have paid good money for the services of a scholar, but the proximity of templars always made her husband twitchy. With good reason, too. The first time Leandra saw a poor apostate get caught by her hunters, she almost cried out that it was the templars who were committing a crime, not the woman who was crying at their feet.

The first Hawke child was born a few days ahead of schedule, but it was as healthy a baby girl as one could wish for. It was summer, with fruit shining on trees and fireflies lighting up the sky, and tired and drowning in work as she was, Leandra felt happiest when she saw her husband hold her daughter for the first time. In her after-birth weakness and, witnessing this joy, she had allowed her husband to choose the name.

She was a little less pleased to find that her husband selected that of some kind of Fade creature of legend or whatnot. Nevertheless, it was a pretty name, Illyria, and so she saved working out her frustrations for their bedroom instead of her fists, on the condition that she be consulted if they had another child.

Her husband apparently wished to apologize so profusely that he proceeded to put not one, but two children into her womb once they figured out how to care for the first.

The years were good to them, to the young family, and Leandra believed those to be the happiest years of her life. Mal hid his talents well, becoming an attentive father as his initial flightiness mellowed out into a willingness to stay with his family through thick and thin. The son he had longed for was named in the honor of a man who had helped him reach his happiness – Leandra knew the tale well by then – and all seemed well for those too brief, wonderful years.

Then, her lovely daughter zapped a rat that had scared her with a bolt of electricity.

Just like that, they were on the move again, because Highever was a pious teyrnir, with templars watching closely and the life of a mage-child one that had to be sheltered like a candle in a storm.

Fortunately, Malcolm was an apt teacher, something she would never have guessed at their initial meeting, and soon Leandra no longer had to worry about either of the twins crying because their ball had been set on fire when they refused to play with Illyria.

Their troubles returned only when the ball was set on fire without any intervention from their eldest and they found Bethany holding it in her hands with ease, scowling at Carver for his not being able to catch it. Leandra thought her hands would be scorched, but her husband saw immediately that their peaceful life in Dragon's Peak was then entirely over.

The flaming ball had been hard to find. They managed to escape before the templars arrived, if only barely.

Lothering became a pleasant enough stop for their journey south, pleasant enough that they stayed in that place for several years. Again, the Chantry was a nuisance, but they settled into the life of farmers well, providing their children with all the love and education they could afford. What they lacked in wealth they made up for in the love they had for each other, even though it was a strain on her shoulders, living with three people who shared something she could never have or grasp. Her son felt that burden far heavier than she, though, especially when it became clear that Malcolm was raising his eldest as the one to take care of the family should anything happen.

But it was their life, their home, and Leandra found happiness once more, stroking her husband's graying hair as he told her about tales from Denerim, the exploits of their new king, or listened about how it would soon be time to start finding suitable husbands and one possible wife for their ever-growing children.

She could have spent her entire life in Lothering, content with her lot, even if the sting of her parents' rejection of her decision hurt still. There were no more children on the way and Carver was long past the age of displaying signs of magic. There seemed to be no more surprises along their path that couldn't be avoided with a little care.

"Leandra… we need to leave." her husband was saying imploringly. "This village won't be safe for us any longer, not now."

A templar had attacked them; a templar who hadn't even known that they were truly mages. One man who had drowned his sorrows a little too deep over some petty grievance or another and finally hoped to proclaim his affection for some village maiden – whether it was actually one of her daughters was inconsequential at this point. They had been forced to defend themselves, one thing had left to another, and here they were. The bottom line was, the man was dead.

Bethany was still somewhat traumatized by the turn of events, huddling in the corner while they tried to make sense of what they should do. Carver was scowling in the corner, his eyes still burning with negative emotion, though it seemed more than just the residue of his anger at the templar.

"But why so far?" Leandra demanded. "We could go to Redcliffe, or Gwaren, or somewhere far away from here!"

"And what then? Do we simply keep starting over if our lives are disturbed? I am no Dalish, my love. I want to stop running at some point."

"We already left one land for the sake of settling. How will it be different if we undertake another journey?"

"Life is different in Tevinter, Mama." Illyria was holding a map, as if things were already settled and they were going to go, no matter what. "Magic isn't frowned upon at all. Mages can live anywhere they like-"

"Yes, and non-mages are often given the great honor of being slaves." Carver was firmly against the idea. He wasn't as well-read as the others in the family, but his knowledge was the most Chantry-related. "The magocracy has a tight hold on that decrepit place. Here, we can at least live as we like. Poor, but free."

"Or we can be poor but alive in Tevinter." Illyria countered, "There, we have a chance at freedom. But if they catch any of us here… we're free on borrowed time here."

Malcolm nodded, disregarding the drawbacks he was well-aware of for the sake of convincing his family. "This country is my home, but life is complicated enough for a single apostate on the run. We cannot just keep running forever. When we are old and our children have progeny of their own, how will we continue our wandering? I wish to live my life in peace, free of the Chantry's nonsensical laws. If we are to keep retreating, why not go to a place where there will be no further attack?"

As a Chantry-educated noble, Leandra had heard tales about the magocracy and its blood magic in the dark lands governed by the Black Divine. And the sound of the place so far away from what she was used to sounded somewhat frightening; the move to Ferelden had been quite easy, with many refugees migrating from either side to the other.

Tevinter was… different.

A decrepit imperium that had outlasted any attempts to subdue or destroy it, even that of Andraste herself. And, for all their strange customs, mages were indeed allowed to walk freely among the mundane.

"Bethany, dear, you haven't said anything yet." Her beautiful girl was sitting in the middle of their little circle, her eyes still a little unfocused. "What do you think about this idea?"

Seeing the bleak look in her little girl's eyes hurt Leandra; out of their three mages, Bethany was the only one who truly wished to be rid of her powers. But she usually agreed with her sister and her father, even on matters outside of magic.

"I've always wanted to be normal. In Tevinter, magic is normal." Dark hair was falling into her face, and, for a moment, Leandra was reminded of her youthful hesitation about following her heart into exile. Except the prize was hardly within sight for her children and the journey a little different than the one she had taken to get here. "Perhaps we will fit in there."

"We'll still be Fereldans, even when our magic is accepted, darling." At least Malcolm seemed to hold some semblance of a realistic outlook of their chances. "But it won't be much different from when I entered the Free Marches for the first time. We can do this."

"Well, wonderful for you three. I guess Mother and I will just be coming along to carry your bags." Carver rarely went so openly against his father, even though his sisters were a different story.

It was nonetheless a gap between them that Malcolm felt deeply; his son was the only one he couldn't truly educate himself, having no knowledge of the blades that so interested the boy. Carver had received a Chantry education, different from his sisters in that way, and would likely be able to get a job as a guardsman at some estate. In Tevinter, his prospects would of course be dimmed.

"You are all my family, Carver, and no one here will be making anyone less than equal." That reply averted the storm, for the moment. "We're all in this together; if we go, we go together, all of us. We can always return eventually, if you find the country not to your liking, but it's our best option now."

"Why not return to Kirkwall, then?" Leandra's final suggestion was a desperate move on her part. She knew well enough the number of letters that had gone unanswered, the many years she had hoped for some kind of response.

Malcolm took her hand gently, looking into her eyes with the tenderness that had won her over. "My love, we have no word from your family to give us any indication of what welcome we'd receive." Leandra knew he was thinking her parents would hand him to the templars, at best, but she still believed that wouldn't be the case. "Besides, Kirkwall is a dangerous city for any mage."

"We all know the stories of the Gallows." Bethany shuddered.

"Send letters if you wish." Malcolm squeezed her hand encouragingly, but she could see that he truly didn't believe they had a chance of returning there safely. "But we need to leave soon and put distance between us and this place."

"Mama, we can do this." Illyria's smile was strained but determined, if a touch less confident than most of the time. "We can make a life there. It'll be fine, I know it will."

And, finally, she was once more won by promises of a life under the stars, a home that might never be and a future in a distant land. Leandra Hawke was no longer a selfish chit who put her own guilt before anything else, before the safety of her darlings. Yet, as she once more set sail away from her husband's land – just the way she had entered it, it might as well have been the same ship, for all she knew - she was forced to wonder if it wasn't hope that had made fools of them all.


	3. Two

The immense support for this story has been calling for an update, so here it is. LJ unfortunately doesn' t allow typo correction and Word is sometimes a little wonky when it comes to reading situations, so that will hopefully be corrected here. As promised, this will be the same story as posted there, but with expanded scenes, adjustments and more plot. Maker knows we all love a little fluff or smut once in a while (or a lot and as often as possible), but the meme prompt specified that this should be EPIC, so epic it shall be.

**o.O.o**

**Two**

**o.O.o**

The archon' s behavior to her set a new tone to the mood. Suddenly, Hawke wasn' t the dirty Fereldan refugee who thought a lowly worm like her could even touch a magister with her desecration of the ancient craft.

Now, a new person had been created, a new Magister, and that alone commanded respect. She had been given a new name - by the archon himself, no less! - that befitted her station, a respectable name. And since it was now Aurelia who stood before the herd, one of them, the magisters were doing their best to pretend that Illyria had never challenged any of them, never broken the delicate balance of their ranks and perhaps even never existed in the first place.

It didn' t matter either way. She had passed the peculiar initiation ritual. She was one of them now, as far as they were concerned.

Hawke stood out in the crowd of well-groomed magisters like a sore thumb. She wasn' t quite as lean and skeletal as most of the other mages seemed to be, or as wraith-like. Indeed, a healthy woman in her twenties with sun-touched skin and hair burned to the color of ripe corn could hardly pass for an arcane horror, even if her clothing could have suited one quite well.

The unexpected celebration of her wonder of a victory stretched into the night, but Hawke finally managed to disentangle herself from the nest of vipers by dropping unsubtle hints about wishing to see her new estate. In truth, she couldn't wait to get away, if only to tell her mother and siblings that they would no longer have to hide among the poorest, fearing a magister's wrath. They were now rich themselves and could enjoy the spoils of war, whatever that meant in this case.

Magister. She didn' t feel any different and answering to a new name was almost as difficult as seeing all the wide smiles directed her way. A day ago, they would have barely considered her worthy of slaying personally.

She already had about a dozen invitations to dinners, soirees, parties and meetings, but Hawke had the good sense to insist that any visits to her estate would have to wait after she made it "fit for others to see" and made an account of all her new possessions. This, too, was a test from their side, and she understood it well. Someone risen from such poverty - as far as they knew - would sympathize with slaves, naturally.

In fact, Hawke had gotten into trouble a few times for attacking this barbaric practice at an inopportune moment. That was wrong for a lowlife refugee. For a Magister...

She held no illusions about the gilded cage of her new rank. These people would kill her the moment she got in their way, and gleefully. Care was necessary.

Her refusal to use blood magic in the duel had been considered a means of her establishing that she was stronger than Danarius without the help of demons, something to be commended. If they knew the true reason, the magisters might not have laughed so heartily at their fellow's foolish death.

In the meantime, Hawke had already gotten to know Hadriana far more than she would have liked. The moment she had made any kind of suggestion about wishing to inform her family about her intent, the apprentice dashed off, only to return with the news that she had a carriage summoned for the two of them to go to her family. The Tevinter had once again dropped into a low bow and proclaimed how much of an honor it would be for her if the _honorable Magister consented to allow her, unfit for the task as she was, to provide her with her own carriage and show her the estate._

"As Danarius' apprentice, I alone was trusted to see to the estate in his absence." Hadriana's chest puffed out, as if this was supposed to impress Danarius' killer.

Proud ramblings such as these reminded Hawke of the tales her mother told her sometimes about the suitors she had had in her youth. Eager to marry the Amell heiress and without an ounce of subtlety in their blood, every word and gesture had screamed "pick me, pick me, ooh, pick me!" It was disturbing to relate this context to the weedy woman watching her every move.

"I am well aware Danarius trusted you." Even his name tasted like manure, or what Hawke imagined that would be like. "I am not Danarius. If you believe yourself so competent that you presume to decide things for a Magister, perhaps you have no need of my tutelage."

Hadriana missed neither the implications nor the threat and spluttered apologies all the way to the carriage. Hawke didn't refuse, if only because she had been trapped in a room full of Tevinter magisters when the suggestion had been made. Still, she made sure to leave them with the impression that she intended to be frosty in her conduct to those lesser than her. Thus far, the groups of those who deserved her ill treatment and those who could get it apparently intersected only in the personage of this woman.

One complication ended only to saddle her with another. Hawke had never expected to miss the simplicity of being chased down by templars.

Simplicity didn't really exist in Tevinter. The carriage Hadriana managed to scrounge up looked more like a birthday cake on wheels. Hawke, however, was more in awe of the horses. They were so rare in Ferelden, these magnificent beasts, that even the coarsest of them were a point of fascination for her.

Still, it would be seen as weakness from some point of view, just like everything else in the world would be here. So she managed to resist petting their well-kept manes, maintaining her mask of cold indifference.

Hadriana still didn't appear to know how to treat her, but she had chosen simpering on for the time being. Even the quiet glares caused her to shut up only momentarily. Still, credit had to be given where it was due; she was a dedicated one. Dedicated to her single-minded goal of getting Hawke to take her on as an apprentice.

It would have been a fool mission even without the way Hadriana's nose shriveled up when she saw their destination.

Saying that the Hawkes' current residence was in the middle of the slums would have been cruel. It was mostly on the periphery, just deep enough to fall under the term hovel, but not quite as far as a true beggar's dwelling would be. Certainly, the nearby Alienage was far from picturesque, but at least it lightened the mood by showing the refugees that they could all live much worse.

Hawke herself had a soft spot for elves, if only due to the similarity of their situation to mages. Of course, the mundane among the fair folk didn't have the power to blow up the people oppressing them, so their plight was limited to being ostracized. Their walls were invisible.

As neither magisters nor challengers, none of her relatives had been allowed into the dueling chamber, but not waiting at its entrance didn't mean a lack of caring. It was just that none of them cared for being driven out by force or getting involved more than necessary in the struggle they couldn't win.

Predictably, her mother had attempted to knit or somehow busy herself with housework, but it just wasn't working out for her that much, given the way she was staring into space from her favorite chair.

When Hawke entered, though, she leapt to her feet like a cat, smothering her eldest in a tight embrace.

"Merciful Andraste," Leandra Hawke breathed, ignorant to all else. "You're all right! I was so worried about you!"

It was the first time Hawke's expression softened for a moment. Losing Father had wounded Mother greatly. Losing one of her children would have crippled her for certain. But she had to do this; get revenge for the crime committed against them. And even behind her fear, Mother understood that.

Carver had been pacing around like a tiger on the prowl, but his eyes were now fixed on Hadriana. The woman couldn't have looked more Tevinter if she tried, especially with her barely-concealed disgust at their living conditions. She ignored the young man, but spared a passing glance at Bethany, who looked like she was about to cry, or vomit, or both.

"I'm here, Mama." It was regretful, that her control slipped in such a way and she allowed Hadriana to witness the endearment, but she wasn't yet Tevinter enough to hide all her feelings and wear a mask at whim. "It's over now."

"Over? You mean the son of a bitch is dead?" Trust Carver to be brusque and straight to the point.

This time, it was appreciated. Hadriana wasn't an expert at hiding her flinching either.

"I wouldn't be here if he wasn't, Carver." That was kind of the prerequisite of a duel to the death, unless she was somehow a ghost. Still, this hardly seemed like the time for sarcasm. "Danarius is dead. We won't have to hide anymore."

From the general reverent surprise that had overtaken her siblings and mother, Hawke could easily tell that they hadn't hoped to see her alive. She was a little disappointed, but not entirely surprised.

However, the awkwardness didn't have the opportunity to settle in for long; Hadriana let out what was obviously intended to be a jovial laugh, but came out more like a hysterical shriek. Bethany jumped a little in her seat, likely worried that it was some peculiar Tevinter spell.

"Hide? Even if you wished to do so, it would be entirely impossible now! The whole city will be rushing to meet its latest Magister! At least, everyone of note." she added, making it very clear in what group she considered herself to belong.

Instead of easing the mood, however, her mother looked somewhat alarmed. "Magister? Who is this woman, darling? What's this all about?"

Leandra was the only person in the world who could make Hawke fidget with only a concerned glance. "As part of Tevinter custom, all of Danarius' belongings apparently fall to me."

At this, Carver's eyes shone. "What, no more dirt floors? And just when I was getting to appreciate their uniquely moist texture."

"And this is-"

"Hadriana, formerly apprenticed to the late unfortunate slain by your lady sister." Bethany didn't show anger openly by any means, but Hawke recognized the crease on her nose that only appeared when she was irritated. "I am at your disposal in the humble hope that I could be of use in helping you adjust to your new station."

"So this passing down of possessions includes apprentices?" Peculiarly, it was Leandra who spoke, the first to realize the implication. Perhaps she was simply the best at reading through empty words and false modesty among them.

Hadriana gave another exaggerated bow. "Your estimation is correct for the most part, milady. Even if I wished to apprentice myself to another Magister, I hardly think I would find one of such repute." she simpered.

Leandra was usually an amiable person towards even the undeserving, but Hadriana received no such courtesy from her. "So they… they made you a Magister?"

Hawke nodded slowly. "I likely wouldn't be able to inherit Danarius' assets otherwise. But… yes." Strangely, it seemed less rewarding than she thought it would be.

"The archon himself proclaimed it." Hadriana's wide smile seemed ready to cleanly cut her face in half, with the way her chest was inflating. Evidently, in Tevinter, apprentices held no deep loyalty to masters not-so-long dead, let alone swore to avenge them in some small way.

The situation was less impressive the more Hawke thought about it.

"Lyri… what about us?" Bethany's eyes were a little wider, her tone slightly too careful. "Are we allowed to live with you? We still have no standing here-"

"We promised to stay together when we came here and I intend to keep it that way." Hawke said firmly. "I know of no law that would dare suggest you don't have a place with me."

"Quite the contrary!" Hadriana had a bad habit of answering questions that hadn't been asked and that wouldn't be directed at her even if they had been. "Relations of a Magister enjoy a status of privilege roughly equal to those of noble families in other lands. Those with the gift of magic in particular have the opportunity to enter into an apprenticeship and advance into the privileged ranks of Magisters." she added to Bethany.

"Of course, why should we get to play in the same sandbox as the special children?" Carver kicked at a straw on the nearby floor, but the prospect of impending wealth won him over. "When can we see this estate? I assume Danarius didn't sleep in a barn."

"Carver!" But Leandra appeared tempted as well, or at least wistful. Life in Tevinter had been hard on her; in Ferelden, they had lived below what they could afford, but never in poverty. The years of trying to rub two coppers together in Minrathous were weighting down on her. "I suppose we could have a look at what you've inherited, darling. A proper bed might do wonders for all of us and we could inspect things in the morning."

"I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to." Carver added resolutely, but hushed grudgingly when his elder sister gave him what Bethany termed the "hush, kiddo, the adults are talking" look.

However, even Hawke was curious; she hadn't dared set foot anywhere near the rich quarters of the city. "We can be packed and ready to go within the hour. Hadriana, could word be sent there that my family and I wish to come for the night?"

"Word of your victory has no doubt spread already, but I sent a message before we arrived." The way this woman took liberties with other peoples' property suggested a spoiled nature. She seemed eager enough to be useful, though. "I can send another message to ensure they will be ready for your arrival. Do you wish for slaves sent to pack your belongings, Magister?"

Slaves. Hawke had almost forgotten.

It was possible to live as the lowest of the low in this city and still know freedom. But slaves in Tevinter were considered different beings; creatures fit only for the purpose their masters gave them. At least mages were feared in Ferelden and thus treated with some degree of dignity. Here, any creature could become a slave, if they didn't have standing. Their family had barely been above that status that very morning.

"We can manage." Credit had to be given to the fact that Leandra could anticipate so well when her eldest was ready to enter full battle mode and act a bit rashly. "Most of our things are well packed already – we can be ready to go within the hour."

They had been ready to move at any time in case agents of Danarius found them; Hawke had become a rather persistent nuisance to him in these past few months.

"Will we all fit in the carriage?" Bethany was thinking much more practically than the rest of them. They might not have much with them, but still, it would be five people. "With the bags and everything…"

"I can go to the estate personally and have the best carriage prepared for your honorable family, Magister." Hadriana was the image of an overeager dog batting its tail to get to play fetch. She also looked quite willing to leave the all too humble dwelling and remind herself that she still lived in the hub of luxury. "With luck, I should be able to return before you gather your belongings. Would that please you?"

"That sounds like a good idea." Hawke managed to nod approvingly and appease the apprentice's expectations well enough – meaning that the Tevinter almost tripped over her own robe in eagerness to get to work.

Once bereft of the awkward presence of an outsider, the family's full attention and anxiety could return back to their de facto leader.

"So what are we sitting around and waiting here for?" Carver's attempt at breaking the silence came a little too soon to reach its full impact potential. "Let's pack up our stuff and get ready!"

"Are you sure this isn't a trap?" Bethany asked, ignoring her brother. "They could be trying to get all of us eliminated at once."

"That's ridiculous. Why would they go through so much trouble for us?" Carver wasn't backing down this time; obviously, this was an issue of some importance to him. "We're not threats of that magnitude. Besides, Danarius is dead, right? What would be the point?"

"The archon pronounced me a Magister and gave me a Tevinter name." Hawke explained. "They could have killed or tortured me right there, but they didn't. I have reason to believe this offer is genuine."

Leandra had already managed to produce one of their coarse bags, ever at the ready to get underway. "If this is a legal method of inheriting assets, then I think we should have a lawyer look through things. If we can afford it, in any case. But we must be careful about this."

"When are we ever not?" Carver scoffed even as he began to toss his things onto a pile nearby.

"You know this life was a necessity, Carver."

"A necessity for you, Lyria! I never asked to leave Ferelden or end up tangled in mage politics! But that's in the past now and I'm willing to put it behind me if we all get a say about these things now!"

"I promised to avenge Father!"

"And you did just that; congratulations." Carver noted, less impressed than he might have been if it hadn't taken so long. "We can stop living in the past now; and that includes this grubby old place."

Bethany had watched most of the exchange silently, but this moment made her choose where she wished to stand. "You're being disrespectful to Father. He wanted us all to live a peaceful life, but understood that things aren't just going to fall into place without us trying. I hardly think our troubles are over."

"Oh, don't worry, Beth. You can still make Magister yourself and attend the tea parties with the rich and bloodthirsty. It's only Mother and I who have to depend on charity!"

"Children, enough." Leandra had returned into the debate, sensing that the point of crisis escalation was near. She glanced in all three directions of the impending conflict. "We'll go to this mansion and see for ourselves what this victory has brought us. We will behave as befits nobility and treat all those who deserve it with respect. I trust that Hadriana woman's ambition, if nothing else. She lacks the cunning to be more than an errand girl. But careful about even lackeys, darling." she added to her eldest. "Ambition is a powerful motor."

Hawke nodded. "Right. So we're agreed then? We're going to that place and organize ourselves from there?"

The question was mostly directed at Bethany, who was the only one still a bit apprehensive. But the youngest woman knew when she was outvoted and nodded, even if she couldn't avoid a little sigh. "This was what we've wanted from the start, wasn't it?"

Hawke had been asking herself that question for quite some time.

For so long, she had only hoped to avenge her father, assuming that any future after that would be a short and lethal one, if Danarius' supporters had their way. But now their life on the run was over and…

She didn't really know what was going to happen. True, she had been raised by a noble, but the Amell line and a good upbringing was hardly enough to make one a noblewoman; at least in her own eyes. However, Tevinter had its own rituals regarding such things, so she chose to put her doubts aside.

Those resurfaced in full when Hadriana returned, with great pomp, in the most magnificent and ornate of golden carriages. The entire neighborhood had gathered to see what the commotion was about; there was no doubt in Hawke's mind that if they didn't fear a mage's retribution, the nearest urchins would have tried to steal bits and pieces of the intricate contraption.

The thing that stood out most to her, though, was the obviously hastily erased family crest on the carriage doors. That brought a small smile to her lips.

Still, only the gentle nudge of her mother's hand made her move forward when it was expected of her.

Bowing low seemed like second nature to Hadriana now, as was reciting compliments here and aside flattery to Hawke's family there. In fact, by the end of the carriage ride, the family argument seemed like a distant and cherished memory in comparison to her chattering.

The carriage would have been a frivolous whim, had they left from the imperial palace, because it soon became clear that Danarius had made his dwelling as close as humanly possible to the archon's residence as possible without appearing overly zealous. That, of course, meant that it was as far from the slums as possible, of course, so Hawke was grateful for the damage her feet were spared. Tevinter shoes alone were difficult to get used to, let alone walking in them.

They stuck out like a sore thumb – or, rather, like four sore fingers – in the carriage, let alone in the courtyard of the magnificent estate they entered. At another time, Hawke would have laughed at Carver's fish-like expression, but she was a little awed herself.

They had never been poor in Ferelden, but Danarius' estate seemed less like a nobleman's fancy estate and more like a display of obscene wealth to rub in the face of his neighbors. Which wasn't to say that it wasn't designed for security – it was a walled fortress, teasing with wealth but not showcasing it. At least, not without having the penalties for being caught trespassing in it in plain sight.

Walls, wealth, and, from what the windows showed, bad taste in interior decorating. There were lights blazing in the windows, despite the lateness of the hour. It had to be four or five in the morning, if Hawke was any judge.

She understood well that Minrathous was a city that never slept; some blood magic rituals worked better at night, after all, with the darkness appealing to the demons most. But this looked as if upon receiving the news that the estate would have a new mistress, everyone within had been thrown into a panic and immediately had to hide all their dirty laundry.

Hadriana rambled on about the history and value of the place, but it seemed only Leandra was partially listening out of careful politeness. It was easier to tune the Tevinter out than to stop her, Hawke discovered, and she allowed her to think she was atoning in some manner.

Carver helped their mother out of the carriage, but Bethany crawled out on her own, refusing the aiding hand, if only due to her own surprise. They had never been this deep into the rich parts of Minrathous before and aside from Mother, none of them had seen such wealth this close to touch.

Hawke was grudgingly impressed. And a spark of hope had been lit somewhere in her mind; perhaps this was where they truly belonged.

"So, I guess they weren't trying to kill us after all." Carver commented, though his awe of the estate was genuine. "My sister is legitimately a Magister now. About time one of us made it beyond errand boy in this city. Of course, that means you've topped my record achievement."

"And we can't be having that." Hawke grinned, a bit of the weight falling off her shoulders. "I suppose you're next then?"

"It wouldn't be original anymore if I just copied you." her brother pointed out. It was a rare thing that he was unfazed by such jabs. "Topping this… I'm thinking Emperor of Orlais might be good enough."

"More like Queen of Antiva." Bethany managed to wheeze out when she tore her eyes away from the many windows that displayed nothing but shelves of books beyond them. Hawke hadn't yet spotted that.

"My darlings." Leandra sighed, stepping between the small rivalries. "We can send letters to Empress Celene tomorrow if you truly wish to try your hand at courtship, Carver, but tonight, I would rest easily."

_For the first time in years_, it went unsaid between them.


	4. Three

The fic continues! LJ readers, no worries – the fun will continue soon enough, I just have to deal with some real world stuff before we get to the good bits at long last.

**o.O.o**

**Three**

**o.O.o**

No more hiding. No more running. No more revenge and anger and fear.

It seemed they had an actual home now – one where the shadows might conceal something unfamiliar still, but a home nonetheless. The sense of calm and relief that passed through the Hawke family was so new and unprecedented that they almost didn't recognize it at all. It had been months, at the very least, since they had felt any semblance of peace.

Not safety – there was no safe place in all of Tevinter, especially for the family of a Magister – but peace.

That bliss didn't last even three minutes.

Hadriana had been eavesdropping on most of their discussion quite rudely and butted in at the first opportunity in a similar manner. "I shall get the slaves to arrange the finest quarters for your family, honored Magister!" How she didn't trip over her intricate robes when bowing over and over again was a downright mystery. "Right this way, please!" she added, dashing away to see if everything was perfect.

The doors were opened for her; there was movement all around. Hawke noticed only then that the entire estate had to be awake; no doubt the news of their master's demise merely hours ago had long since reached them.

Bethany raised her dark eyebrows, matching her sister's pained sentiments with a simple glance. The others might have heard only the part about slaves, but the sisters shared the same opinion about this woman; for that, they didn't even need to have a discussion. Only Bethany had come to the correct conclusion as to just how difficult it could be to get rid of her, this Tevinter with her heart set on climbing her way to the top.

The estate was a marvel of marble, gold and ivory, with the best materials and most lavish tapestries adorning it as far as the eye could see – and this was only what was visible from the outside. As far as rewards went, Hawke could have done much worse.

Apprentices, on the other hand, were more of a pain than they had a right to be, especially inherited ones.

Especially when Hadriana strode into the mansion with the air of one who was very much used to being in the place, like the mistress of it, and immediately screamed at the nearest person. Bethany actually moved to cover her ears, though it was a second or two too late – the shrill scream was very likely to stay with her for some time. From what she could tell, something about the ancient-looking suit of armor that dominated the entrance hall was off, and the waifish elf-girl trying to fix it wasn't being respectful enough.

Hawke heard a different interpretation of things, a less muffled one that made her frown deepen.

"What are you doing here, you knife-eared bitch?" Humans looking down on elves was nothing new, but the terrified way in which the girl collapsed on her hands and knees in front of Hadriana was in a league of its own. Hawke could almost hear her teeth clenching – and she would have, if the terrible shriek didn't insist on continuing. "I gave Rufus strict orders to have your worthless hides ready to greet your new mistress!"

The elf stammered out apologies, ducking away from anywhere Hadriana's hands could reach, almost knocking down the armor in the process. "E-e-everything is as you o-ordered, L-l-lady Had-drian-na! I-I-I s-simply-"

"Excuses don't interest me or our Lady Magister!" Hadriana barked, a warning spark of lightning shooting out of her fingertips. "I'll see you get stable and latrine duty for a month, aside from twenty lashings!"

"Hadriana." The sound of Hawke's voice was reminiscent of a mabari growl, and even the apprentice had the sense to understand that. And while her pose was still rather subdued, her siblings saw well that if the Tevinter as much as cast a cantrip at the girl, the spell wouldn't leave her fingers before her fingers left her body permanently. "Your yelling offends my tired mother."

Leandra herself seemed a little too shocked to be offended, but she was the first one to recognize the immense warning sign; Illyria didn't have the habit of yelling in anger. It was the immense coldness she could summon up out of thin air that made her frightening. Fortunately, even if the Tevinter didn't have the good sense to recognize the severity of this moment, she understood the wording well enough to glance at her superior.

The apprentice's demeanor changed in an instant when she spotted what the Hawke twins knew as the Evil Eye directed towards her. Dark hair obscured her face yet again; she could have likely bowed her way out of hell, if need be.

"A thousand apologies, milady, I will never-" Whatever she intended to apologize for, it wasn't the thing she ought to be sorry for. Not that Hawke was interested in apologies to anyone other than the elf girl trembling on the ground.

"You're not my apprentice yet." the new Magister interrupted, walking past the Tevinter without as much as acknowledging her with a glance. "Keep this up and you'll be lucky if you're not something else entirely before you leave here."

She would have liked to help the elf get to her feet, but the air of fear around the slave was almost tangible. She had made the same assumption as Hadriana; that the Magister's displeasure was directed towards her speaking out of turn, not her appalling behavior.

Carver felt a hint of satisfaction upon seeing a would-be magister subdued in this manner, even if he wasn't the one who could do the subduing. The woman's chances were rapidly sinking, if his sister was making her decisions based on this little display.

Given the status of mages in Ferelden, it wasn't surprising that Illyria was rather sympathetic towards slaves. But Carver still remembered the few instances when some fool at the marketplace had dared presume that he and Mother were one of his sisters' slaves and tried to buy them. It seemed like everyone in this hellhole was able to tell who was a mage at a glance, robes and staff notwithstanding. There had to be something in the water, or the food, perhaps; raised on Fereldan hotpot, Carver didn't trust the fancy concoctions these Tevinters cooked up for themselves.

But as for this apprentice thing… well, it was nice to see that Illyria had some sense left in her head, if he was any judge. Even if his sister ever entertained the idea of keeping this woman around – and, judging by the small vein pulsing on her temple as she stalked ahead to clear the way for them, this was a slight chance in any case – he would never allow her anywhere near this place. Magic or no, it was difficult to cast when you were missing a head. Even a Fereldan sword was good enough for that.

There had to be some documentation to ensure that they had the deed to this place, though, because so far, Carver was entirely satisfied with what he was seeing. He meant it when he had said that it was purely relation and charity that kept him and Mother there – as non-mages, their standing would always be reduced – but he also understood well enough that his sister wouldn't have the heart to turn them out to the street, no matter how much he grumbled. After all, they had had only each other for so long…

Even if the procession of people lined up to meet them bowed explicitly to her alone, Carver noted to himself, feeling a twitch in his jaw. It had to be the meatloaf, for certain. Tevinter meatloaf was ominous. Those were two words that should never be put together, right there.

The moment the group of humans set foot in the entrance hall, all movement ceased in greeting. It seemed that the entire household had gathered dutifully, disregarding the lateness of the hour or the suddenness of this change, to greet their new mistress. Bethany surveyed without astonishment that she counted more elves than humans, but it was a close call. Let it never be said that Tevinter wasn't an equal opportunity country for recruiting slaves.

Surprisingly, though, most of them were dressed – well, not richly or intricately, but cleanly and decently. She had heard about how some Magisters abused what little rights slaves had, so this did a little to assuage her fears. In fact, she rather thought their mother mistook them for ordinary servants for an instant, before spotting what her eldest was narrowing her eyes at; a red welt on one of the slaves' arms, the mark of a whip.

The apparent steward's crisp glare made the slave in question hide the wound behind his neighbor's back as they stood there, in a perfect line, eyes downcast and almost empty. When the image sunk in, the Fereldans were no longer so impressed. Leandra felt Carver's grip on her hand tighten – they were making a little show of it, escorting her like a proper lady, but she was glad that a little of her education had stuck – and her girls looked no less appalled, if she was any judge.

All this went ignored by their new entourage. Even Hadriana perked up a little to see that most of her instruction had been properly followed; she had apparently completely forgotten about the misfortunate elf girl, who had slithered to the very rear of the slave ranks. The man who the family could only assume was the steward of the estate bowed low before Hawke, descending to his knees.

"This worthless thing at your feet is Rufus, milady." Hadriana took obvious glee at the way slaves cowered before her, especially those who could be considered almost servants. The fear of others had a certain addictive quality to her, possibly stemming from the fact that she herself wasn't yet high enough in the world to have none of her own. "And it is by his failure that we were delayed."

"Forgive me, Mistress Aurelia." Rufus was an elderly man, long past his prime, but there was a sharpness to his eyes that age hadn't managed to dim. In fact, if this was past his prime, he must have possessed a razor-like stare once upon a time. And, despite the fear and uncertainty lacing this apology, one could tell that it was a practiced move. "I take full responsibility for the actions-"

"My family is tired, Rufus. Please prepare the best rooms available for them." A shiver seemed to pass through the line of slaves; that didn't sound like an eager proclamation of punishment. It was just an order. One that sounded like a request.

The steward recoiled in something akin to astonishment while Hadriana's slit-like eyes widened a little. "O-of course, Mistress. It is our honor to serve you and your family. The property and every slave will be ready for your inspection first thing tomorrow. The mas- your suite," he amended after that small lapse, "Is prepared for you and at your full disposal."

This was a victory, not a defeat. She had conquered Danarius in every sense and this was her moment of triumph. Damn if she would give the dead bastard the satisfaction of seeing her back away from what was now by right hers.

Disgust had no further place here, even if she had to burn every article of clothing Danarius had ever worn, every bedsheet and every chair. She could do this.

"Thank you for that. Everyone on any duty other than guarding the estate is dismissed for tonight." There was no denying the hush of whispers, no matter how quickly it vanished. "This includes you, Hadriana."

Carver could feel the positive, unfamiliar emotion in the air when the apprentice was treated in the same way as the slaves were, even if the slaves themselves probably knew nothing of satisfaction. Most likely they were conditioned to just fear anything that resembled happiness and not believe they deserved it at all. He was getting Tevinter logic pretty well now, no matter what Bethany thought.

Hadriana looked ready to splutter in humiliation, but almost recovered without a hitch. "Honored Magister-"

"You are my guest and I have not heard anyone extend an invitation for you to stay overnight. I will deal with you tomorrow." There it was; the Evil Eye once more. "Leave."

That was a direct order leaving no room for interpretation in such an order, but the apprentice made sure each and every slave saw her sour expression with the promise of punishment, even if the string of expletives going through her head was likely meant for Hawke herself. There were moments when the strict hierarchy of Tevinter was actually appealing, even to Fereldans.

"Yes. Of course. I am at your service, Magister." No 'honored' this time. She had to be seething, Carver thought, with a stab of almost childish glee.

She retreated with pomp, trying not to turn her back to Illyria at any point and avoid crashing into anything on her way out. Only fear kept the slaves from even going to open the door for her. This Fereldan woman that was to be their new mistress had clearly mastered the mannerisms required for becoming a Magister. But her treatment of people was conflicting enough to be confusing and thus warranted closer observation.

Thus, nobody dared move without her explicit permission.

Rufus, who had that permission, was already making good on his promise to organize the family's lodgings. Each of the trio would eventually go off with a different slave to put their meager belongings in place. With Hadriana gone, the air was a little easier to breathe in for all of them, especially if things were as Hawke assumed.

"The main suite for you, of course, respected Magister, and individual lodgings for your family."

"Thank you." Illyria's eyes were at times more expressive than the rest of her face, which was a wonder to behold, considering how bad she was at hiding her emotions usually. Thus Leandra was always glad to see the sharpness dim and give way for trained politeness, even to those who actually considered themselves lesser. "I think we will be happy enough to see a soft bed tonight."

"Yes, there isn't any need to exert yourselves on our account tonight." Leandra added, attempting to sound reassuring. Not that it wasn't the truth, of course. "No doubt we will be able to better appreciate your hard work in actual daylight."

The lineup of slaves was doing its best not to erupt into a sea of whispers, but it was a difficult thing. Leandra, more than her children, could understand why. They had been peculiar enough to them with their coarse garments, sun-darkened coloring and general lack of powdered-nose appearances, but this demeanor was anything but Tevinter.

Treating an apprentice as a slave and a slave as a servant, even a house guest perhaps… it stung with unfamiliarity and the slaves weren't certain how to react.

The twins did their best to appear accommodating, or at least Bethany did, feeling the eyes boring into her staff and the quick calculations behind any slave who dared meet her eye for even an instant. One mage per household was standard, but two… no matter what Illyria said now, they would be terrified.

And that was without adding Hadriana to the mix.

"Well, does it live up to your every expectation?" Carver muttered to her as their sister received a quick report on the state of their rooms and an apology in advance if they weren't to their liking.

"If Father was ever right about anything, it was that no one is ever going to forget where we come from. Or what we are." she added as a sigh of an afterthought. Magic would never be normal, not universally.

"Better to be feared than loved, huh?" The slaves were scurrying around, trying to make some last-minute adjustments while the masters weren't looking.

"Why are you complaining? You said you wanted this."

"I said I prefer it to the squalor we lived in." Carver corrected with a frown at a slave or two watching the twins with great interest. Neither of the twins looked completely like their sister, with their dark hair, brown eyes in Bethany's case and the stockier frame in his they had gotten from their father. "Although we might see some of that here as well."

Their mother was doing her best to pretend the slaves were so well-trained because they expected payment, not a beating.

Bethany could feel the beginnings of a headache, but also a yawn reminding her of the lateness of the hour. Any movement from her still made the nearest slaves freeze in anticipation.

"Well, if you wake up in the morning missing the dirt, I'm sure they'll try to accommodate you." she murmured, making sure not to meet any of the eyes watching her. If a mere glance frightened them so, she didn't dare think about what a display of magic might.

Finally, the temporary arrangements were agreed; news traveled truly fast in Tevinter, if this was any indication. Apparently, Hadriana had had time not only to send details of how many people would be arriving, but also their relations to one another and their names. Carver distinctly remembered that the Tevinter hadn't asked for anyone's name, not even Illyria's. His sister was currently in the process of trying to learn to respond to words like 'Mistress', 'Milady', 'Magister' and, to break the pattern, 'Lady Aurelia'.

Arcanum wasn't Carver's strongest suit – he spoke it well enough after spending so much time in the slums, since many residents there weren't well-versed in Common – but he appreciated that the archon had chosen to completely forgo subtlety when deciding on a name for her.

They were each given a temporary escort, even if it was the steward who led them together up the grandiose staircase and off to the residential wing. As the estate was used to having a single master, the other quarters were reserved for visitors and thus not in the same hallway, let alone the same floor as where Illyria would now be residing.

This change was especially peculiar to Bethany, who was by then entirely used to huddling close to her mother and sister whenever the Fade became unpleasant in the night. Carver, thickheaded as he was, often insisted on trying to sleep with his sword at hand and then proceeded to fall asleep on the floor. Here, they were each given a spacious suite.

In the end, it meant that only Illyria was isolated from the others, having her own floor, her own corridor, and a room the size of a house simply for her own comfort in the hours of the night. Which was nothing to say of her study, which was the room next door, her spacious bathing chamber and the room that was to be emptied and house her clothing.

She had been a bit embarrassed to show that the small satchel the slaves had insisted on carrying for her contained all of her current possessions. If they weren't so afraid, she was positive that the one she assumed to be her new chambermaid would have fainted on the spot. Still, clothes didn't interest Hawke as much as something else.

"Is Hadriana's presence regular here?" she asked the steward when she had said goodnight to the remainder of her family, promising that they would meet in the morning and outline a strategy for the future.

They still hadn't heard about the list of invitations to parlor parties and tea ceremonies she already had.

"If your ladyship desires it, every effort will be brought to make Lady Hadriana feel welcome here." Rufus recited. That wasn't an answer, but the man's slight limp perhaps was. "Our previous master allowed her to deal with the more… tedious aspects of running the household."

Ah, so that was where the presumption that she would want her to stay had come from. If a Tevinter hadn't bothered, then a Fereldan might just be too unwilling to bother learning these customs.

Again, the steward was bowing low, without even stopping. "I apologize once again for the inadequacy of our welcome to you, most honored lady. I will have those responsible ready for your punishment tomorrow."

If these affairs involved whips and other inventive punishments, Hawke had her answer for Hadriana ready in that very instant.

But mountains weren't moved in a single hour and she wasn't ready to fight this battle just yet. This would likely prove to be an uphill battle, and her energy for that had already been spent on one victory that night.

"I would like to meet my staff first." Though what it would take to convince them that she was different, she didn't know. "Punishments can wait for an actual crime."

This seemed to confuse the steward, but he gathered that the mistress didn't look ready to demote him to piss boy just yet, so things could perhaps yet go well.

"Of course, milady." he said, bowing as low as possible without blocking Hawke's way as he opened the door. "Good evening to you, and please do not hesitate to ring the bells if you have any need."

She didn't even request two servants to fluff her pillows and change her clothing. She was clearly displeased with the place, Rufus wondered with dread as he raced away to – mistress forgive him – retract her order of rest and make sure the entire palace was shining and sparkling by the morning, ready for her approval. He could only hope that _that boy_ would be back from his last assignment by the morning, so that even this peculiar Fereldan could be impressed with the wonder of her new residence and not take too much of her anger out on them.


	5. Four

As exams are getting closer and closer, posts might be a bit more scarce. Fortunately, quite a lot of this fic is pre-written, so they should at least be regular.

That said, on with the story!

**o.O.o**

**Four**

**o.O.o**

Hawke hated herself for being a little in awe by the glittering splendor of the mansion. A little awe was balanced by a great deal of disgust, however, seeing as Danarius had the taste of a deranged magpie on lyrium, apparently. It was one thing to have a luxurious suite, but the constant gold filigree was a little too much.

The place really contained everything three scatter-brained Orlesian noblewomen might need to make their life downright fabulous, with the wardrobe to match that. In fact, if Hawke had no idea who had been living there, she would have guessed a middle-aged spinster with a penchant for extravagant gowns better suited for her somewhat embarassed granddaughter. Or possibly a circus clown.

And it all belonged to her now.

Hawke was a bit irked about her lack of foresight. There was absolutely no place to put her own things. She actually imagined the servants would attempt to burn them if they found them, because nothing she possessed was made of silk or satin or any fabric in the menagerie of clothing prepared for the master on the house.

But there was no way in the Fade she was ever going to put on any of _his_ clothes – she rather relished the idea of getting them all burned tomorrow, piece by piece. Nonetheless, her own robe was rather haggard by now, stained by many battles and many hours on various roads and her nightrobe was just as coarse and plain. Also, she had been running on determination alone for the past few hours; Hawke only now realized how tired she actually was.

At least the sheets were clean, hopefully sterilized, and she was much too tired to care about anything that might have been in them previously. Fear of their master had obviously made the slaves take great care about keeping things clean, and she was going to trust in that fear for the moment. She hated that they were so afraid, yes, but this was a battle for another time.

And, Maker's mercy, it was her room, her estate and her bed. If she wanted to sleep with only a sheet wrapped around her, so be it; it wasn't as if she wasn't used to much colder, less comfortable sleeping spaces.

Hawke made certain the door was properly shut before she kicked off her worn boots and started taking off her clothes with quick precision. She wasn't a tidy person by any means, at least when it didn't concern something precious or magic-related. Undoing the clasp on her robe, she allowed it to pool at her feet and stepped out of it without any intent of picking it up. She shook her head roughly, getting all the flyaway hair out of her face in the process.

Aurelia. How original, she snorted quietly to herself, blowing a stray blonde lock out of her eyes. Where her siblings resembled her mother most closely, she had inherited some of her father's Fereldan features.

Vaguely, she brushed her hands along her ribs, wincing a little when she felt a bruise. She would have to practice her healing a little tomorrow. Her duel had been won, but that wasn't to say that Danarius hadn't gotten in a few good hits.

Fortunately, she was trained to fight men with pointy swords that were liable to get up close and personal in combat. Still, she might even have to ask Beth for help, which she dreaded. The lectures her mother would give her… she played the calm mother whenever possible, but she was always afraid that they would get hurt.

But for Hawke, it was the rush of adrenaline that burned away almost any pain, the high of battle and the pounding of blood in her ears that screamed for survival. And, of course, this had the usually undesired side effect of a different kind of hunger afterwards.

The servants had been so scared they hadn't even asked her if she was hungry, and to this Hawke almost laughed a little. Her sister was too proper and perhaps too innocent to even notice, but Carver was less subtle about these things. Hawke knew quite well that the adrenaline of battle stirred a craving for more than food. It was a natural reaction; when your body survived a near-death experience, it had the insatiable urge to celebrate by reproducing. Just as a precaution, of course.

Not that Hawke got off on killing people, Maker forbid, that was just too morbid, but it had been some time and now that the strain of having to protect everyone was temporarily lifted…

Hawke sighed wearily as she kicked off her boots. Two years in a country more depraved than anything she had ever imagined and she had lived no more extravagantly than a Chantry sister. One that was on a rampage to avenge every wrong ever done to her, in fact. But she didn't yet know the exact acoustics of this place and was actually a little too tired to indulge herself. No, no, better to be sated with a victory over her impulses as well, rather than daydreaming in an empty bed.

Drawing the sheet around herself, she removed the remainder of her clothing. Most fabrics around would likely end up burned or thrown away, but the sheet felt nice and comfortable around her body. Still, she hardly relished the need to gather all the clothing to dress the part of a magister now.

A new life awaited her tomorrow, but the lonely bed was likely to st-

Sensing the presence of eyes upon her was also something brought to her thanks to years of running from templars. Her window hadn't been closed – it figured, of course – and the figure had slithered in like a shadow. Stupid of her to presume that-

She didn't even manage to raise her hand for the blaze of magic to issue a proper warning. The man seemed to have simply melted out of existence in an instant, and she suddenly felt a wall slam against the back of her head – stupid wall, running into her, was what she thought wildly while she saw stars – and she found herself face to face with the glow of lyrium reflected on the blade of an enormous claymore and in the entirely too focused green eyes of an elf.

"Who are you to trespass in this place?"

Hawke had never heard a demand being issued with such resignation. It was almost like listening to someone Tranquil speak – a horrible thing to see to one such as her. But there was an undertone to the voice, a life suppressed by habit and chains… and an edge to it that sent exactly the wrong – or right – kind of shiver through her.

Or it just might have been the cold steel resting against her throat right now. If he could wield that thing while sneaking up on someone as paranoid as her...

Despite their comparable build, Hawke knew enough of swordsmen to be quite certain pushing him off with her strength alone would be useless even before the blade sank into her throat.

"If anyone is trespassing, it would be you." The longer she spoke and had his attention, the more magic she could build up. "As of today, this is my home."

"You lie." The blade pressed a little deeper. "Answer again, and you may yet live."

There was no hesitation in the elf and just a hint of rage. Hawke was growing more and more certain that her initial impression was mistaken and this wasn't an assassin sent after her. What would be the point? More intriguing were the peculiar markings all over his face, descending under his entirely too form-fitting armor.

Hawke almost opened her mouth to call him out on either his lie or his incompetence at whatever he was supposed to do, but there was a noise at her door.

"M-mistress Aurelia." A servant. It sounded like the stuttery elf from the armor stand. "I have managed t-to find you some clothing for the n-night. Please, m-may I come in?"

It was enough of a distraction for Hawke. She intended only to push away, not to hurt, so a single blast of magic would be enough. That much she could do without her hands.

The elf was sent crashing into the nearest table, only narrowly avoiding taking a few fingers off with his sword. Hawke seized the moment and quickly froze the blade and part of his armored hand to the ground with another surge of magic. The arcane display was simple, but apparently stunned the elf more emotionally than physically.

By then, though, there were more overeager servants at the door, some with an extra key, trying their damnest to see to their new mistress' well-being. Hawke barely had enough time to rearrange the sheet around her body in a way that covered most of her breasts before they burst into the room. At the head of the small group was Rufus, with the not-so-forgotten dinner, and two maids that had managed to find her clothing. The tray almost went cluttering to the ground when the steward saw the scene in front of them, and shoved it into the hands of the nearest clumsy elf girl who almost stumbled over air.

"Gracious Mistress, forgive this lowly fool for his terrible mistake." Hawke didn't really know if he was begging for himself or the elf on the ground, but it was entertaining nonetheless. Judging by the glare Rufus shot him, though, she could figure. "I assumed that Fenris wouldn't return from his task until a few days from now and had no way of informing the slave of your new circumstances. Bow to your Mistress, dog!" Ironically, it was he who barked. Also, it was kind of hard to bow when sprawled on one's back. "I will personally punish him for this transgression, Mistress, you have my word!"

The elf' s expressionless eyes now rested on her, almost inquisitively. He wasn' t in a hurry to apologize and bow, like the others seemed to be, but not to any semblance of independence; he seemed genuinely at a loss as to what he should do. The very thought process of what having a new mistress must mean was displayed quite clearly on his face, though Hawke couldn' t really interpret the results.

"Fenris, is it?"

Hawke rather thought that whatever stink-eye he would receive in the next few days was quite punishment enough, but she was a bit intrigued. Greatly, in fact. Aside from the throbbing in her head which would recede, given time, she was more than thoroughly impressed. Not an assassin, then. A bodyguard, perhaps?

She asked as much, addressing the elf, but he simply continued regarding her as if she had just fallen from the sky.

"Yes, Mistress, that and whatever else you may wish of him." That triggered a flash of pain and resentment in the elf's face, but it was gone with what appeared to be much practice. "The old master considered him a prize among his warriors, worthy of heavy investment. Hence the name, I believe. He is a wolf, a beast to be unleashed upon enemies. I will have his leash repaired for you and ensure that the punishment will not result in permanent damage."

"That will not be necessary." For the first time that evening, Hawke was finally stern.

"B-but he assaulted you, Mistress! His mistress and a Magister of the Imperium!" Rufus spluttered, the gears in his head apparently jamming.

Hawke understood that forgiveness wasn' t a very Tevinter trait, let alone a Magister trait. But in this situation, she knew how to twist the tale in a way to make her forgiveness believable to them.

"He believed I was an intruder, and rightly so, for he had not met me. He knows me now. So long as it doesn't happen again, I can understand it." She was still looking at him, searching for the glimpse of a trapped animal she had seen in his features. A collar, of all things! Hawke didn't dare imagine what else his duties might have encompassed, but she was all the more glad Danarius was dead. "There is, however, one thing you can do for me, Rufus."

The steward was instantly on his feet and singing praises to her and his ability to obey.

Hawke gave a tight little smile. She was tired, bruised and had to exhaust herself further by using a tightly-controlled fire spell to unfreeze the elf. "I won't say no to fresh clothes. But the meal you have prepared for me, give to him. He looks malnourished."

Coming from her, that was no small fact.

The slaves started whispering among themselves only upon being dismissed from the room, but no one stared at her more intensely than Fenris, who still hadn't made any move to pick himself up from the floor.

It was more due to the fact that he was still trying to absorb this new information than any kind of injury; the mage - Magister - had been uncommonly gentle with her power.

There could only be a single reason for everyone talking about Danarius as the old master, without mentioning his name, with this peculiar woman with oddly accented Tevinter in his place, in his chamber, in his bed.

A reward for an attack. A day ago, it would have earned him a severed and reattached limb, at best. His new mistress only then seemed to realize that she wasn't alone in the room and her puzzlement turned into understanding in a moment or so.

"Have I injured you?" she asked, sounding nothing like what she was supposed to. Him, injured! Pain was a second skin to him; he had very nearly cut more than her hair.

"I am undamaged, Mistress."

She made a clicking sound with her tongue, as if this wasn't the answer she was looking for. The food tray was still on one of the remaining tables, untouched. For a moment, he thought that it meant she was about to rectify the lack of pain, but the magic in her hand merely unfroze his weapon, allowing for the water to melt away.

"Very well. You may return to your room for the night."

So this was her game; sending him away from his duty. Before she could say another word or enforce her words with magic, there were hands clutching onto the edge of her sheet and a head of white hair bowed down subserviently.

"I will accept any punishment you see fit, Mistress. Please don't send me away."

The way his armored fingers clutched around the sheet, Hawke thought for a fleeting moment it was going to tear like wet paper. But she felt her heart clench for the second time that night, at just the smallest hint of frantic desperation in the elf's voice.

Whatever had given him the idea that being sent away – or freed, in any case – was worse than any cruelty an inventive magister could dish out deserved no mercy.

The sheet was slipping, in any case – he was much stronger than he looked, this one – and so Hawke decided to allow herself to be pulled down to her knees. The loss of counter pressure in turn sent the elf down to all fours, how he remained even as the mage had literally lowered herself to his level. He seemed determined to have his punishment and display any amount of obedience required for that effort.

Hawke was a little discomforted; arranging introductions with someone who was now part of her staff while wearing nothing but a bedsheet and the adrenaline still pouring through her wasn't necessarily how she had planned to end this day. Still, she had to resolve this now, lest assumptions be made about her character that could damage the future of the entire household.

"Fenris, look at me; I am speaking to you."

The name sounded much softer when coming from her mouth, even softer than it had before. But the elf did his best to not stir even in the face of this surprise. The hand that came under his chin to raise his head was an intrusive move, though well within the magister's rights, but it came slowly, and, if he had the will to do so, Fenris could have easily avoided it or pushed it away.

This woman was a foreigner. She had to be, else she would never have bothered with such care. Also, Fenris couldn' t remember ever having seen her before and the Maker knew Danarius organized enough parties to make even the most extrovert of Orlesians feel tired and nauseated.

She had to have killed him. This slight woman, with her careful politeness, had killed his master. Fenris didn' t know whether to be relieved, disappointed or awed. It seemed too unreal.

Still, the combination of a reprimand and command was irresistible for very twisted reasons in a slave's mind. Fenris saw that the magister only barely mastered the impluse to recoil at the way he suddenly snapped to attention, avoiding almost any contact with the softness of her palm, and, even more so, at the way his markings flared to life. She would remember herself at any moment and realize that punishment was a necessity. The way she chewed on her lip indicated thought and stalling, meaning that she had yet not decided on the manner of punishment.

"I am not going to punish you. And I will not send you away." Hawke added quickly when green eyes had begun to widen. "You did what you perceived as duty. There is nothing to forgive."

His new mistress didn't speak like a magister, nor did she look much like one. With her pallid hair and healthy complexion, she was a complete change from the monochrome of Tevinter, with its dark shadows. With the windows as his entrance (Danarius didn't want him to be seen by many, especially those who would link him to possible mysterious deaths), he had already seen enough to know she was nothing like anyone in power in this damnable place. She was young and soft and smelled of a distant sun that never quite seemed to reach the heart of the empire… and the lines of her body, revealed in the pale candlelight even now, behind the flimsiest of covers, weren't entirely repugnant.

She gave a little sigh, but it was of resignation. "Do you want to serve me?"

As his mind was following a very specific line of thought just then, Fenris interpreted this in the basest way possible. The honest answer would be no, despite or maybe because of the way she was different than what was customary, but that hardly mattered. There was a command in the question, or at least he heard one, and that couldn't be disobeyed.

"As you wish, Mistress." he breathed out, prepared himself for the inevitable leap, and the wolf lunged forward, trapping her in a fierce kiss.

It was truly more of an attack than a kiss, but Hawke really felt as if she had been struck. This was so not what she had asked him, but somehow, her body now had a voice in her head and it was saying that this was completely a-okay, that she could solve her problems later, much, much later, if Fenris kept tugging at her bedsheet and trailing little pathways through her hair with his armored gloves.

Her breasts were getting some marvelous friction against his chestplate and the sheet softened the contact just enough for it to be bearable, and with every second, it felt more like an attempt to devour her, the small bites along her lips, the pulling closer… but there was something mechanical about it, an abandon that was almost dispassionate, but not quite.

Hawke wished she could say she had the presence of mind to pull away immediately, but playing tug-of-war with her own hormones wasn't exactly easy. Instead, though, she managed to slow him down, until the pace was closer to affection, even if it was between strangers. Pulling away at that point was even harder, because her heart was hammering with more than just surprise and the heat building up in her face was matched by-

With a gasp, she finally managed enough will to do so, and not a second too soon. She would have regretted this in the morning, so very much. For a few moments, she could hear only the blood in her ears and the short pants coming from her mouth. She swallowed the unfamiliar wild taste of him before her libido could get anywhere close to making the decisions for her now and only then turned her attention back to the elf, who was once again looking at her with an entirely puzzled expression. It was almost adorable, but far too saddening.

"Did he- did that-" There wasn't a word wile enough in Tevinter, Common or Orlesian for that bastard if her hunch was correct. "Did he make you do this for him?"

Fenris' expression was unreadable for a second, but his nod was slightly perceptible after a moment.

"I have displeased you, then?" he asked hesitantly, with just a hint of breathiness in his voice. It seemed that to him, that would be logical only if she didn' t find elves or men in general attractive.

The truth was, Fenris didn't remember if he had ever been with a woman. He was special, as it was always hammered into his head by his former master, and so he couldn't have a family, couldn't take a lover, because he belonged to someone already. Once or twice, this had been reinforced in his mind with punishment. But the magister's face was flushed and the sounds she had made indicated enjoyment, if he hazarded a guess.

Yet now she looked as if she either wanted to punch something or scream in frustration.

"No, you have done nothing to displease me, Fenris." The way she said his name was pained, though why, he didn't really understand. "I didn't mean to ask this of you. My question was… I meant that if you wish to stay in this household, there is no reason why I should prevent you from doing just that."

The magister made a noise of frustration, at war with herself about something, and got to her feet as quickly as she could. She clutched the bedsheet wrapped around her torso as tightly as she could, as if it offered protection from the entire world. Fenris wasn't certain whether to be intrigued or somewhat offended by her desire to get away from him and pretend that the instant before had never happened.

"Please return to your quarters. There is much to do in the morning, and I am tired. I will send for you when I go out."

Hawke wished desperately that she could say that she would never ask something like that of him simply because he was a slave, but had the distinct feeling Fenris wouldn't believe her. She hoped only that her tone conveyed it well enough.

"My place is at your side, Mistress."

The elf made no move from his place at the edge of her bed, like a loyal hound might, even though his eyes continued following her around the room. By the Maker, his voice had dropped a few notes in the aftermath of their tongues' dance and Hawke' s knees were already weak enough today.

More importantly, whatever hatred she had had for Danarius was intensifying tenfold with each moment in this poor creature's presence. The room was filled with furniture, yet he was made to sleep on the floor. For a moment, she desperately wanted him gone, but Hawke knew the look of stubbornness and duty the elf had adopted now. If she sent him away, he would sleep on her doorstep, on the balcony of her suite, or the roof, even, but not in any bed that put him further than three steps away from her.

She grabbed the nightgown the slaves had brought her and dashed behind the nearby changing screen. Sleeping in the nude now held twice as much appeal and many more dangers, and she didn't trust herself to not be very frustrated if she continued like this.

Fenris watched attentively as she proceeded to dump several of the many pillows she was allowed on the floor, pull the expensive tiger skin from Seheron away from its predestined place – Danarius would have had a heart attack at the rough way she handled the priceless artifact, which brought a momentary spike of happiness into the elf's expression – and proceeded to make him a fortress of feathers and blankets.

The latter were too heavy in case of any danger, though, and finally, the magister gave up and surrendered the sheet that had so badly protected her modesty in place of the heavy velvets. And, strangely enough, Fenris managed to sleep after watching his new Mistress for almost two hours, trying to determine something he perhaps didn't even wish to know. That night held no nightmares, only the smell of foreign sweetness that clung to the white fabric under his hands.


	6. Five

Apologies for the delay – real life does tend to get in the way of things. Without further ado, the weekly updates should continue!

**o.O.o**

**Five**

**o.O.o**

Oddly enough, Hawke slept entirely soundly.

After years of being ready to jump into action at the sound of a mouse tiptoeing around the hallway across the entire house, it was rather unusual. Perhaps it was the physical as well as mental exhaustion; she did feel quite a few bumps and bruises in the morning that hadn't at all bothered her before.

She woke up due to the sun shining into her eyes, which was not a surprise even in the dingy places she was usually forced to reside. There were holes enough in those roofs to justify the occasional beam of light finding its way into the building.

The soft bed with fluffed pillows and warm covers was definitely a novelty, though. Well, some pillows, anyway; she had tossed most of them outside for someone else's comfort, but only realized it later on. Even bereft of those accessories, though, it was far more fluff than she was used to sleeping in.

She stretched her arms and legs before tossing a cloud of knotted hair out of her face. Last night had truly happened then. Somehow, her enthusiasm had faded quite quickly. She could do anything now, in theory. But as a Magister, she had new rules to adhere to and an actual position to keep up.

The greatest evidence of that position was right next to her.

Her fuzzy vision went back into focus just in time to observe that the pillows she had tossed out of her bed had been neatly arranged to the side. Their current (and likely temporary, if he had anything to say about it) owner was sleeping in a sitting position, leaning against the wall behind her bed, sword practically at the ready. There was only one sign of the fact that he was sleeping and that vanished quickly enough; the elf's eyes snapped open before Hawke could even blink or look at him for longer than three seconds. The elf was thus either a very light sleeper or very lousy at obeying commands relating to his own well-being.

"Good morning, Fenris." she greeted groggily, rubbing her eyes in a way her mother used to tell her off for as a child.

Fenris observed his new mistress more properly this time. She was human and young, bleary-eyed and oddly colored. If her appearance wasn't enough of a sign of her foreign nature, it was the way she addressed him as not-a-slave. It couldn't even be pretended that it was intended for someone else, as they were still alone in the chambers.

His new mistress stretched in a manner that many a magister would consider undignified, making the slight reddish line along her throat – he had pressed his sword a bit too tightly at one point, perhaps when the magic blast had made impact – and pushed away her covers in a manner of someone unused to luxury and perhaps a little ashamed of it.

She sent an approving glance to the clean plate from yesterday – it would have been disgraceful to leave food to spoil in her presence, so Fenris had obeyed her command – and appeared just a touch surprised to see her old clothing gone from the pile on the ground she had left it in the night before.

The foreign, dirt-stained garments were nothing like what any of the chambermaids would allow a Magister to wear.

Fenris was momentarily uncertain whether or not he should respond any more than a silent guard should, but her reprimand about not looking at her when she was speaking came back to him. He had already done his mistress harm yesterday; disobedience could very easily shatter that impossible clemency he had been granted.

"Good morning, Mistress." he echoed, lowering his gaze when she glanced at him.

Perhaps it was the sleepiness still wearing off, but Fenris' tone brought back memories of the previous night's incident and some very vivid dreams from hours before. Not sexual ones, surprisingly, even though that might have been much worse. No, she had relived her own sufferings and mixed them with what she imagined Fenris must have gone through during his tenure with his former master.

After years of living in Tevinter and after yesterday, Hawke was quite certain that she would need more than a few words to show him and the others that freedom was the right of every living being.

Nevertheless, there was apparently some kind of magic set to indicate when the master of the house awoke and there were slaves at her door in an instant, bringing her food on a silver tray, scented oils and fresh water for her morning hygiene, and some clothes – would she pardon the meagerness of their offering, it was the best they could do in a few hours, they said as they laid out three clean dresses that would have made a bourgeois lady proud – while Fenris watched with unreadable eyes.

Bethany came into the room minutes afterward while apologies for the austerity of the gowns were given, already much cleaner than Hawke remembered her seeing and also dressed in a plain flattering gown.

"Magister for a day and already you oversleep." There were already dark circles around her sister's eyes and Hawke had no doubt that she had spent most of the night huddled in the library with a few candles. Still, she was smiling, her face a little less gaunt. "Mother and I are going to be treated to a tour of the property. The gardens have been recommended to us so many times she decided we might as well go see them."

Hawke smiled tiredly, aware that the servants were fussing over them a little too much due to anxiety. "Go and enjoy yourselves. I am fine here, in good hands."

Bethany didn't miss the cold observing eyes of Fenris following her around the room any more than her sister had, especially since she carried her staff openly. If the younger Hawke knew about yesterday's attempted assault, she made no comment, at least not in front of servants, and instead nodded.

"Oh, and before I forget, several messengers came around already. Word travels fast in Tevinter." she noted, grimacing a little. "I've asked Rufus to bring the papers to you."

The slaves made Bethany nervous, more so than she did them, apparently. Hawke idly wondered if they already knew she, too, had magic at her command. Knowing Bethany, she would have tried to hide it as much as possible, but still…

"Thank you, Beth. Where's Carver, writing love sonnets about swords to the Orlesian empress already?"

"Reciting them to your soldiers, most likely." At her sister's surprise, Bethany smirked just a little, making herself look a touch more impish. "Strange how in all lands, nobility means being able to kill the best?" she said before sauntering out of the room.

Though the others might not have been able to tell, Fenris could immediately see that this was another mage speaking to his new mistress. There was just something about the way they carried themselves, no matter how they might disguise it – and that this woman tried was quite surprising. So his mistress had a family; this one had a face similar to hers and the other they spoke of could perhaps be a relative or lover.

Having two mages in the household was hardly a new sensation, but it was different to see a magister interact with someone actually related to them. The dark-haired woman was below his mistress in status, relation or no, and yet there was nothing in their exchange that would suggest as much. Fenris was somewhat bewildered by this chaotic display; it had to be a foreigner custom, such a lack of attention to respect.

Decorum was also a rather ignored thing, as his mistress groaned openly when presented with a steward almost buckling under the weight of letters addressed to her, most of them official. The sound stirred a memory in Fenris' mind, which he pushed away. While dining and conversing with others in the room, the magister seemed to have completely forgotten about his presence, something he was quite used to. This part of the routine was comforting, but the fact that she may yet change her mind about a great many things wasn't.

His mistress was rubbing a hand against her temple, allowing the nearest slave to pour her some tea. "Of course, why should I have a peaceful day?" she was muttering. "Could it please be made known that I will not be seeing any messengers today? I wish to spend the day in the company of my family."

"O-of course, Mistress. As you command."

That they still seemed to be walking on eggshells around her seemed to annoy her profoundly, though Fenris couldn't yet understand why.

"You may go; I would like some peace while I eat."

She took her meal with quiet dignity, almost as if she had completely forgotten about his presence in the room.

Uncertainty, that was what Fenris loathed. And with this new mistress, even the certainty of punishment for wrongdoing seemed to have been taken away from him. He needed _something_ to be able to move on from this point.

She was still wearing only the thin nightgown they had managed to somehow find and the clothing she had worn yesterday was conspicuously missing now. One of the slaves must have taken it to be cleaned or incinerated, possibly.

"Shall I help you dress, Mistress?" he asked when the Magister had finished eating.

Hawke choked a little on her tea. She had truly all but forgotten that she wasn't alone in her room, considering how the elf had seemed content to remain in his corner and watch her motionlessly. At some point, Fenris had gotten to his feet, but remained expecting a command from her. He wouldn't move any further without one, clearly. Most likely yesterday's incident had left him very cautious about how far he took things without any orders.

She had never had a chambermaid, so she really didn't know how such things would work, but certainly no noble lady in Ferelden could boast to have one who could swing a greatsword as tall as her with ease. The other, likely more suitable candidates, had been ushered out of the room without any protestations. Or possibly they expected that she would want to be dressed by an attractive male rather than squeaky-voiced girls with shaky hands.

If Hawke was certain of anything at that point, it was that Tevinter was a sick and twisted country.

"I have two hands of my own." she snapped, but regretted the tone immediately. Fenris seemed to recognize it, which was a bad was just more sensible to take the robe herself without making a fuss about things. "It's kind of you to offer, but I really don't think we know each other well enough for that sort of thing." Not that it had stopped her yesterday.

Such thinking didn't really seem to fit into Fenris' logic, though.

"You are my mistress. I am meant to serve you in whatever matter you choose to have me." It was a cold recitation, beaten into a mind by long practice.

Hawke hadn't known before this moment that it was possible for her to feel so shameful about thinking the elf attractive. She took a step closer, but Fenris almost jumped back at the motion, as if such a thing happened only in punishment. It could also have something to do with the markings, the analytical side of Hawke considered. Rufus had insisted about the elf being an investment of considerable size, and while his equipment was outstanding, something told Hawke that custom gear wasn't enough to warrant such consideration in a place filled with decorations lavish enough to be obscene.

"I won't hurt you, Fenris." The way he seemed to be holding his breath in complete stillness was almost painful to her. "I asked you yesterday if you wished to stay with me. But I'm not a child and you're not a toy. I'm not Tevinter," Hawke added when he seemed to be uncomprehending still. "And while I've made some concessions to the customs in this land, where I come from, anyone who considered another their slave would be severely and justly punished."

"A barbaric custom." Fenris said with less than usual compliance. Hawke got the distinct impression that he wasn't agreeing with her. "There are always slaves and masters. It is the way of the world."

There was a changing screen in the room. Thank the Maker. "It doesn't have to be."

"But it is." The glint of anger vanished from the elf's face the moment he realized his transgression and white hair once more obscured his eyes as he lowered his head. "My sincere apologies, Mistress."

"What for?" Hawke tilted her head to the side, curious about this development. There were traces of a personality hidden beneath the chains, no matter how deeply those went. She just had to be gentle, perhaps extremely so. "I won't be offended if you speak your mind."

"It isn't my place to question-"

"I hereby decree that it is. If you feel inclined to do so." Hawke added thoughtfully. "And have a reasonable enough cause for it." Her tolerance for foolishness was a bit limited. She slid behind the changing screen without further ado and tossed the nightgown over it in a few moments.

"I am at your disposal, Mistress." Fenris echoed emptily. He just didn't get this sentiment.

A put-upon sigh echoed from behind the changing screen, but there was no further response to that.

His mistress emerged in a few minutes, wearing a plain powder blue gown and looking, for all intents and purposes, completely ordinary to the untrained eye. The most obvious differences between her and a peasant right now were her entirely too clean clothes and bird's nest of hair.

At least she realized it when she caught sight of herself in a mirror.

"Do you know where I can find a comb?" she asked, a little less pale than a moment before.

Danarius had been a dandy about his appearance, but at least mildly aware that displaying all the items required for that purpose didn't serve to particularly enhance his standing as a whip-happy overlord. Fenris, however, was quite aware of the existence and location of all these things and was easily able to point his new mistress in the right direction.

She wrinkled her nose a little at the many concoctions laid bare before her eyes, but didn't hesitate to reach for the gemstone-decorated hairbrush. She didn't spare him a second glance, worried that he might interpret this as a command. Positioned in front of the mirror, she began hacking away at her hair, without any regard for untangling it without damaging it.

"Tell me something about yourself, Fenris." she said just as the elf was about to suggest that she might need some help with the back of her head, that despite her protestations.

Anything was better than standing there without a word and awkwardly waiting for… something.

The question caught him entirely off guard. What was he supposed to say? "I am at your service, Mistress."

Which could translate as: I will say anything you want me to.

"How long have you lived here? Do you have a family? Anything you like."

Fenris had no idea how much she knew, but given that she hadn´t been aware of his existence yesterday, it was unlikely his new mistress was aware of the purpose of his markings.

"Several years, I believe." Five, perhaps? Time was an odd thing when each day was almost the same. "At least four. I'm not aware of any family I might have."

"Where did you live before?"

The brush went down and up rapidly through increasingly straight hair. His mistress flipped it over her right shoulder to have access to it from the front.

"I… don't know, Mistress."

All these words were surprising to Hawke, though not least of all the last one. It was a little different to hear the resigned note of deference from someone who had tried to kill her just a day ago.

"You were a slave before this, then?"

The elf was still standing behind her, arms hanging limply at his sides. His armor and sword looked strangely out of place in the well-furnished bedroom, or at least Hawke thought so. Fittingly, he had no idea what to do with himself, if the shifting of his weight from side to side was any indication.

"I don't know, Mistress." His eyes were somewhat distant. "I have no memory of… anything beyond my life here."

Hawke lowered the brush and turned around. At times, a reflection wasn't enough; saying things such as this was enough to warrant such an occasion.

"No memory?" she echoed, "Did you suffer an injury of some kind?"

"As I said, I have no memory of it." A hint of sarcasm there – Hawke hoped she wasn't imagining it, even if Fenris caught himself the second it was out. "What does it matter? I am your slave now."

The bitterness she heard could be a product of her own wishful thinking, or perhaps she was just interpreting it as that in places where she thought it appropriate. But that was barely relevant.

"It doesn't matter to you that you might have siblings or parents out there who are looking for you?" She would have been lost without Mama and Beth and even Carver, when he managed to get his logic straight.

"After all this time, I rather think they would have given up. And if they do exist, they are likely slaves like me. Finding them would serve no purpose."

"No purpose?" Hawke repeated incredulously. "That seems a little fatalistic. Memories could be rebuilt."

"No memory means no connection. I don't miss something I can't remember having. My duty is only to you, Mistress."

This was going to be a very difficult relationship.

Hawke decided her hair was sufficiently presentable for the moment and out the brush on the nearest flat surface. The slaves had hardly been lying; there were quite a few notes with flamboyant handwriting just waiting for her to read. Without a doubt, her accession was the event of the week, if not the month, and Magisters were particularly quick about reestablishing connections.

"Duty." she sat down on the nearest comfortable chair, leaning back as she flipped through the notes without any real interest. "Rufus wasn't entirely specific. You were Danarius' bodyguard, I assume, from yesterday's display."

She wanted to hear the words from him, not from the steward. If duty was the only thing he was capable of talking about without holding back, it was a good enough starting point. Hawke was itching to ask more about his peculiar abilities and the markings on his face and arms that seemed to be tied to them, but held back with some difficulty.

The elf's eyes were lowered, tense and resigned. "I was. My ma-… he… had me act as his bodyguard at public events. He believed it was more intimidating to have someone of my talents on display openly."

The gigantic broadsword was more than enough a testament of that; Hawke could still remember the feel of it pressed against her throat. Had she been a second slower, or without the element of surprise, she might not have been standing there alive.

"And you also ran errands for him." Assassination, she assumed. Or blackmail, but the elf didn't seem sophisticated enough for an extortion strategy more complex than a sword to the chest. "Which is why you came through the window yesterday."

A small nod was enough of an answer, but Fenris seized the opportunity. "Mistress, you were generous to allow me a reprieve from the whip, but you have every right to punish me for my transgression. I attacked you without provocation, without awareness of your station and-"

"I forgave you. Nothing happened, no one got hurt." That was a bit of a lie, since Fenris could see the mark on her skin.

"I could have killed you."

"You wouldn't be much of a bodyguard if you weren't able to fight against mages." she countered, apparently not so bothered. Fenris also took note of the fact that she made no further mention of the other things he had tried to do to – or for – her the other night. The look in her eyes when he had confirmed it to be part of his duty had stayed with him. "You had no way of knowing what had happened. Case closed."

Fenris didn't understand this holding back, not in a magister. It couldn't be anything but faked; even a magister that had clawed her way to the top from rags knew better than to appear weak in front of anyone. His Mistress couldn't appear weak, because that would put her at risk. And since she was his mistress now, his duty to protect her stood.

"Thank you, Mistress." She mustn't make a habit out of this, though; Fenris promised himself to see to that. Already, this woman was proving a better owner than Danarius, even if he had no other basis for comparison. That alone was enough for some amount of loyalty.

"You could have made use of those pillows I gave you, though. Were they not comfortable?"

"I can protect you better when I am ready for combat whenever it comes, Mistress." Fenris answered honestly. Besides, such things had no place in the hands of a slave.

His Mistress finally put all the letters on one neat pile, sipping the last remainder of her tea. There was a rather crudely-carved silver ring on her right hand, plain and unremarkable. It looked nothing like Tevinter jewelry; the Fereldans certainly had peculiar tastes.

"You don't have quarters of your own? I can arrange for you to have a room."

"I can't protect you if I'm not at your side, Mistress. Who knows when a rival might send an assassin to creep through your window at night?" he asked, with no small amount of self-irony.

She looked like she was about to object, but then smiled in that peculiar way once again. "You certainly are dedicated. Very well then, since you insist. But Fenris, I want us to be clear on something. If you ever have need of anything I can provide, you may ask me for it. Call me a barbarian if you must, but I intend to do things somewhat differently. And no, this does not extend to anything involving whips, sharp objects or any other kind of bodily harm."

"How else do you intend to keep order, Mistress?"

"You've never been locked in a room with my brother for over ten minutes." she countered. "That is punishment enough, believe me."

So that would be the Carver she and her sister had mentioned before. Fenris felt a little relieved, though he couldn't place the reason.

"I have yet to meet your lord brother, so I can't confirm or deny your assessment, Mistress."

The final word still irritated her, but she hid it as well as she could – which is to say, not well at all. But she almost sprang to her feet, her face alight with an idea.

"Entirely true. If you intend to atone for yesterday's _transgression_," she used the long word just to hear it roll off her tongue in a slight mockery, "Then you could be kind enough to show me around my new home. With luck, I might even manage to remember a corridor or two."

And that, in short, was how Fenris realized that the small world he was part of had moved away a little from the bleakness of night and a little closer to morning.


	7. Six

With all the moving back home, end of term and all the exam trouble, some time had to pass before I was ready with more update goodness. That time is nao! Those of you stalking the LiveJournal part of this fic, fear not; it will get updated, but I´ve been super busy in these past few weeks. Although it´s fun to watch you guys squirm and stalk the fic so much.

**o.O.o**

**Six**

**o.O.o**

Uncertainty _wasn't_ the right word to define this strange woman. That spot was reserved for turmoil, Fenris decided as the day progressed.

The elf wasn't used to leading anyone anywhere, let alone someone who by all rights and customs now owned him entirely. Nevertheless, her commands were law and her requests something more sacred than that. And she hadn't yet made any use of the former, which was entirely too puzzling. Fenris was almost waiting for this façade to drop, this charade to vanish. It wasn't possible that a woman who wielded arcane power, a woman who had sent him sprawling to the ground and frozen his weapon to the ground with merely a flash of colored light, would resist too long. No mage could.

His Mistress kept it up. She made her way through the estate's affairs more like a guest humbled to be invited than the lady of the manor, treating everyone with a polite courtesy that distinctly unnerved the slaves used to harsh screams and physical or magical attacks if they made a mess of things.

She wore the simple gown without protest or grumbling. She made certain that there was no possible way anyone could legally wrestle this new home away from her. And she began making certain that the lives of the estate's personnel remained undisturbed and took a turn for the better.

Fenris didn't trust this approach; this complete reverse from the way things were going. His new mistress broke every rule he had come to expect from a magister. And she asked constant questions about everything, as if she didn't think she knew best herself. But, most of all, she asked tentative questions that were meant to see if he truly didn't remember more about his past.

However, he learned much more of her than she might have realized.

There were four new residents in the mansion, each of them different than the other. Aside from his Mistress, there was her mother, who seemed to be the only one of the family able to repress acknowledging the presence of slaves through some miracle of will. Then, there was the sister he had already seen, who retreated to the extensive and musty library for hours at a time and was thus barely ever visible. Finally, there was the brother, whom he had the misfortune to encounter during the first trip through the estate.

Were it not for the same blue eyes, Fenris would have hardly guessed these two to be related at all. The young human had immediately spotted the shiniest armor around and was currently making a show of his apparent skills with a large sword. Glancing briefly at his Mistress, Fenris easily confirmed that the differences between these two would go beyond simply appearance.

"And there she is!" The human spotted his sibling after a brief strife with some of the men. He didn't have an ounce of respect within him, not even towards his elder, let alone his superior. Fenris didn't like a thing about him. "Come to mingle with the plebs, Lyri?"

Even the soldiers had the good sense to bow and look a little uncertain about how to react to this blatant disrespect. Fenris settled for glowering at the boy.

His Mistress was far too gracious about it. "I'm taking a tour of the estate before I start tending to the letters we've received." By we, she meant herself; none of the others was nearly significant enough to be receiving any kind of correspondence from Magisters. "I'm glad you're settling in nicely, though."

"Well, apparently, there are things about this new station that are actually within my competence zone. Wouldn't you believe it?" The boy practically consisted of pure cockiness, which positively swelled due to the fact that his sister wasn't carrying her staff right now, to make the slaves more at ease. "Our shields will need to be repainted with a new crest, but otherwise, this is a pretty solid setup. Our own crest," he grimaced a little. "Beth'll be thrilled if she ever gets out of that overlarged wardrobe."

"You know how it goes; some women need clothes to live, some live on books."

"No wonder no one understands you." He then finally bothered glancing at Fenris, apparently a little grudgingly impressed. "Huh. I didn't realize they gave elves meat cleavers here in Tevinter. I assume this was the reason for that commotion yesterday?"

To her credit, the Mistress looked barely red around the cheeks at the mention that her brother apparently knew about this incident. "Bethany didn't mention- just a misunderstanding, that's all."

"Misunderstanding, huh?" The boy looked torn between asking for gory details and not bothering with caring at all. He was at least used to marginally obeying his betters, though, because he took the hint when his sister glared just a little. "When you misunderstand someone, usually it means we have to go pack out bags and run into the night. Guess that won't be a problem this time, huh?" Well, mostly he did.

"No, I believe it won't." the Mistress said, a little less family-like than before. The boy didn't notice. "Well, since you seem to have it under control here, Carver, I'll take my leave and see if I can catch up to Mother."

No nicknames either. Maybe the rivalry wasn't quite so one-sided.

The boy rolled his eyes. "No chance of that happening. She's on the prowl."

Those words hit some kind of nerve in his Mistress, but she kept up her façade of pleasant candor. "Anyway, I will be seeing you at lunch. Assuming I can find it." she added to herself in a murmur when they moved away towards the gardens.

She didn't even notice or dismiss the uneasy salute that was given to her by all the soldiers and her brother had actively prevented the guard captain from making an obviously well-rehearsed first impression on her.

One look was also sufficient for Fenris to establish that these men were in no way unaware of the fact that their new superior wasn't a goat-like shriveled old human, but a tall, attractive woman who couldn't yet have even reached the best years of her life. It was thoroughly unprofessional of them.

Not that it was possible for even the elf himself to ignore this fact, try as he might. The immediate rejection of his offer to satisfy her needs was unprecedented, as was her apparent obliviousness to anything that allowed its eyes to linger on her frame. Quite simply, his Mistress seemed thoroughly uninterested in anything that had eyes – at first, it had seemed that she simply didn't wish to degrade herself with an elf and a slave at that.

She even dismissed him for the afternoon or the night, but after half a dozen times of finding the elf guarding her doorstep or sitting on the floor next to her bed when she woke, as if nothing had happened, she gave up on the idea. It was a small victory for him, proving himself this way.

Even during family meals, Fenris was never too far away, receiving perturbed glares and uneasy glances from the sides of the table where the twins sat. At least they were open in their emotion, even if they did their best to never speak about it. The mother treated the slaves as servants, so she also inspired anxiety, but not as much as the new foreign magister who frowned whenever punishment was mentioned and astonished the steward by outlawing whipping on the premises without her express consent. That, of course, would never come.

And this was just a week after them moving in.

"I don't think you'll be able to wiggle out of this one, sister." her brother was saying, his voice an interesting combination of envy, grim resignation and suspicion. The magister had been able to deflect invitations to social occasions until then, even on a memorable occasion sending Hadriana away through him with the simple reason that she didn't have the time to be dealing with matters of not vital importance.

Now, however, that luck seemed to be running out.

The family was sitting at breakfast, now used to taking their meals together, at least in the morning and evening. As usual, Fenris had invited himself along out of an immediate sense of duty – his Mistress was alone only in her bath nowadays and the elf still had some doubts on the rightness of that account. However, everywhere else, she was soundly protected, as far as he was concerned.

Unfortunately, his competences didn't extend to being able to turn down invitations to balls in her place. Not even with a sword. _Especially_ not with a sword.

"As much as I'd prefer to barricade the doors of this place and just stay in here, Carver has got this one right." The dark-haired mage was twirling her fork in her fingers as she read for herself the piece of parchment covered in ornamental writing that had arrived an hour before. "A ball in your honor? Not the easiest thing to get out of, household or not. You were given enough time to sort things out here and I think these people know you well enough now to guess how fast you are about these things."

"It might do you some good as well, my dear." Her mother added, smiling gently. There was a creature who was obviously entirely alien to Tevinter society, if she presumed that a society occasion was a place where a magister could relax easily.

His mistress thought differently, clearly. She was sipping her drink in the manner Fenris remembered seeing last time when she was forced to watch her brother's childlike enthusiasm over the contents of the armory and the opportunity to spar with so many soldiers that he practically presumed himself to command. Her hair was tied back today, but none of the expensive jewelry she had received by the truckload in the past few days marred the purity of her throat. Ostensibly on the grounds that she hadn't yet tested if the pieces weren't cursed. Which was entirely reasonable.

There was nothing good or beautiful about magic. And Fenris had noticed that his mistress was very careful about not using any more than absolutely necessary of her arcane power in front of slaves. It didn't really set their minds at ease, but the initial frantic rush to satisfy her had subsided a little.

"Mama, I'm not being invited because they find me likable. Getting the accounts here into order is nothing in comparison to spending an evening with the nobility." There was a single ring on the slender hand raising her glass, a crude thing from her homeland. Everything else from her past life had been discarded, so it had to hold some sentimental meaning. "They do this because they must assess how much of a threat I am. A single conversation is hardly enough for that."

Though impassive as a statue might be, Fenris found himself wondering why in truth this woman had chosen to slay Danarius if she seemed to have no taste for public displays of superiority or the temperament to make a strict taskmaster. He had seen no traces of a knife's work anywhere on her arms, nor a collection of… tools… among her belongings.

"I doubt it's simply that." The other mage snorted a little giggle. It was a rather stupid thing to laugh about and a foolishness not to take seriously. "Look at this one: _as it is my understanding that your new position has afforded you little time for personal indulgences, it would be my honor if you accepted an appointment with the best lady's tailor in Minrathous, to do your ladyship's beauty proper justice._"

Slender fingers tensed around the glass, a movement Fenris recognized from moments when his mistress was asleep and reliving some terrible occasion.

"A suitor, so quickly?" The mother would never have survived on her own; she tried to see too much good too quickly. She could even turn this horrendous invitation around to suit her hope for the future.

"Attracted to wealth and position, how deep and noble of them." The brother said, draining his wineglass quickly before his mother could notice his words, especially since she had perked up so.

"This is hardly unexpected, but I had not thought- you saw someone you liked at the palace?"

His Mistress's shoulders slumped a little, as if with a hidden ache. "Before or after I slew a man in front of them? I'm not interested in their machinations."

She was already caught in them, of course, but that was another thing.

"Darling, you've given us all everything we could need to secure a comfortable life in this city. Now it's my duty as your mother to ensure you get a suitable husband. You are my eldest, after all, and most eligible in the eyes of many a young man of station in this city."

Of course there were dozens, if not hundreds who would marry her in a heartbeat and count themselves fortunate. But among them were also those who would try to poison her the day after the wedding.

"What she means to say is that it would make us a bit more secure. But I don't really think Tevinter nobility works that way, Mother." The dark-haired mage probably didn't realize herself that marriage was rare, but alliances founded on common aims and sealed by sex were rather common.

Fenris couldn't imagine his Mistress surrendering a single step towards compromise to forge such an alliance.

"Still, to ignore this would be dangerous." His Mistress gave a put-upon sigh, and Fenris realized that he had momentarily lost himself in thought. Decidedly not a good performance standard for him, even if the most that could attack his Mistress here was her brother with a salad fork in hand – he didn't seem to have yet figured out how the complicated system of cutlery functioned. "Rufus, would you be so kind as to compose an affirmative reply on my behalf?"

The steward, who always stood within hearing distance when the entire family was meeting, bowed low within an instant, and had slaves running to bring parchment and ink within an instant.

"Of course, Mistress. Is the letter to say that you also accept the services of the tailor and dressmaker for the occasion?"

"I suppose I could go as I am, but that might offend a little more than I intend to risk." She twirled a strand of golden hair – her namesake – around a slender finger. Fenris had decided that noticing these things was part of his role as whatever she wished of him. "I will accept their gifts. Tell them I will come tomorrow."

"You intend to go to them?" her brother asked, incredulously. "What happened to establishing dominance? Make them come to you!"

"Carver, you are a veritable trove of ideas and most of them would be tremendously useful to me if I intended to antagonize every single person of importance in this city." The Mistress said flatly, a bit impatient now. "I have no intention of bringing them to my home. I don't want these people mistreating my family or my servants. It´s better if I go to them."

Though he would have stuck out like a sore thumb at a society party, Carver didn't appear entirely placated. He had enjoyed playing with his new toys, but clearly, there was some animosity between him and his elder sister, despite the obvious disparities in their competences. Perhaps the little boy intended to play alpha male and was stumped and sore about the fact that a woman was the one entirely in charge of things. More likely, though, he realized that his sister possessed more sense in her little finger than he in his whole body, lack of magical talent aside.

"Lyri, it doesn't have to be a fight." As her mother rarely used her actual name rather than a pet variation, these words were serious. "We've won the first round - you've won for us. You deserve a little rest and fun. Surely you don't need to be preparing a full-blown battle strategy? At the very least, they can't try to remove you before they establish how useful you are to them."

The Mistress laughed at this uncanny combination of naiveté and cunning. "Astute as always, Mama. Force of habit, I presume."

But she was right about this being a battle. After all, in Tevinter, one could be slain by words as well as swords and becoming an outcast in society could be viewed as a death of a sort. Danarius had always feared such an eventuality and thus made certain to stay close to whatever magisters were in power.

"M-mistress?" The unfortunate slave in charge of the estate's correspondence looked ready to faint when his new lady glanced directly at him, combined with the shock of being asked to openly crash a noble family's mealtime. "Forgive me, but a few packages have arrived for you…"

He cut himself off when the Mistress sighed – never a good sign. She didn't notice the reaction this time, already dreading the inevitable. "Duty calls, I suppose. The days when I could actually enjoy a meal in peace are long gone."

"Assuming we ever had a meal back then, it was always a prime opportunity to discuss the lack of it." the younger sister said, quite happily eating her toast.

Fenris shuffled off after his Mistress, speeding up when he heard her exhale a sound of distinct displeasure. _A few packages_ was hardly an adequate term to describe what was happening in the main hall. Already he could see a veritable squadron of messengers, couriers and heralds very eager to cut the line, present their gifts and scamper immediately, given the usual nature of newly fledged magisters.

And, at the helm, Hadriana, smiling as widely as she could without her face cracking.

"Gracious Mistress, these supplicants have come to present to you the will and favor of their lords." Who had invited her, none could say.

"I see that. It is a bit early in the day to call, but I understand the eagerness to bring news." Too gracious, as ever. "My staff will take the items off your hands. Please offer my deepest gratitude to your masters and my assurance that I will endeavor to meet each and every one of them personally, for I dearly hope to become their friend in the near future."

The slaves were a touch horrified to be saddled with the immense piles, but responded immediately, knowing that the honor of the household depended on their performance. Also, even after a week, they were hardly accustomed to their new lady's more genteel nature and half-expected the whip to return to the standard repertoire of the day any second. Any transgression, no matter how small, was greatly feared. In fact, the absence of punishment itself had become a punishment in its own right, because the tremendous uncertainty in everything made the slaves fear the future even more than before.

Hadriana hadn't been discouraged by being escorted out of the mansion, though. On the contrary, it seemed that she was now more determined than ever to wheedle her way into the Mistress's favor. She had evidently caught word of the ball and was intending to use it as the perfect opportunity to win back her status.

"Milady, if I may," she began carefully, the snake poised to strike. "I've managed to find out that Magister Valesius has taken steps to organize a gathering in your honor."

"I've already received news of this."

"I assumed that might be the case. My point is that this would be your formal entrance into our society; far more than an ordinary social occasion, if such a thing may exist here." There was a point there somewhere, but Fenris didn't see it yet. "Perhaps, if you are willing, you could use the opportunity to formally declare me your apprentice. If it is your intention to do so, of course." Hadriana added hastily, giving the illusion of choice.

Fenris would have killed her in a heartbeat if his Mistress said it was now necessary. Some part of him would do it most gleefully, especially as he was not obligated to honor the stranger in his Mistress's home in any way. But if she ever became her apprentice…

"Thank you for reminding me of that, Hadriana, that was most kind of you." his Mistress said dryly. Whenever her eyes were a little smaller, a little crueler, a line had been overstepped and the contrast between her and the serpent at her side became even clearer. "If that was all you wanted, then please show yourself out. My family hasn't finished eating breakfast and I am eager to join them. I assume you know where the door is. If not, I am more than happy to spare Fenris for a few moments to see you out."

Again, the Magister reacted almost as if she had been slapped, but covered it up with more oil. "Milady, I mean no disrespect, as you know. I am merely glad to see you've settled in comfortably and that your slaves appear to be loyal to you."

Treacherous words that were spoken directly to him, which his Mistress either didn't see or ignored. Either way, it didn't matter. She didn't notice.

"Rest assured that I will come to a decision regarding your apprenticeship in due time and it will be made public, so that both of us can continue our lives in peace." she said instead. "Until then, I'm asking you not to barge in unannounced. As you said yourself, I am still adjusting."

"Indeed, Milady. I heard of that… unpleasant incident with this wretch the evening you came." So there were spies within the mansion, or gossipy hens. Not even slaves could resist proper persuasion. Especially not slaves. "But I understand your decision to keep him. Money and time are both luxuries that have worth and creating a new experiment takes time. I am more than happy to take any damaged prototypes off your hands, though."

Surprisingly, it was that single comment that crossed another line, a more important one, and Fenris's Mistress dropped her previous politeness like a hot coal. "You are gracious as ever, Hadriana. Now leave. I have no further time to entertain petitioners."

This firmness worked – it was what the apprentice was used to, or rather, what such impertinence was usually rewarded with in Tevinter.

The hall was still busy, with slaves moving away as Hadriana stalked off, but his Mistress seemed to have lost her appetite for food for the moment. Finally, she looked at him, even though she had ignored his presence throughout the majority of the conversation.

"I'm not entirely certain what she meant or what happened here before I came, but I'm here now. And that means things are going to be done my way." she said, making Fenris actually uncertain if she was just thinking out loud or actually expecting my response. "So if you must think of yourself as belonging to me, I can't stop you. But don't ever believe that I will in any way allow someone like that woman to harm you or anyone else residing here. So it isn't necessary to merely be my shadow, Fenris. You're allowed to speak and act if you feel you know better than I."

"I don't understand, Mistress." the elf answered honestly.

The Magister sighed. "I mean that you could have spared me a great deal of trouble by kicking her out before she managed to come through the door."

"Forgive me, Mistress. I will endeavor to anticipate your wishes in the future."

"In this case, it might actually be a command." his Mistress said, a little dejected. "Please let my mother know I won't be coming back to breakfast and come back. I think I need another tour of the estate wine cellar before I go through those gifts and it's always better to have company in those cases."


	8. Seven

Sorry about the hiatus – I managed to finish another year of university, moved countries and started a pretty intense internship. The livejournal version of the fic is almost finished – I want to wrap it up there in order to properly focus on this version. Note that the final scenes there won´t necessarily match this version – as things progress, this one will start to diverge more and more.

**o.O.o**

**Seven**

**o.O.o**

Truth to be told, Hawke couldn't hold her liquor.

Scratch that, it was a lie. She had never bothered finding out whether or not she actually could drink. Her father had been quite clear on the danger of alcohol for mages. There were few policies of the Tower of Magi he agreed with, but the absence of mind-altering substances was something he certainly endorsed. A mage out of control was entirely too easy to spot and difficult to subdue – neither of which was good for their interests of staying hidden or low-key.

In short, alcohol was a no-no for the mages of the Hawke family. Illyria avoided it based on having witnessed some escapades of drunks in Lothering, Malcolm had managed on self-denial and Bethany still remembered Carver's "cactus juice" incident.

The less said about that, the better.

Still, ever since coming to Tevinter, Illyria had indulged in a glass or two whenever feeling particularly frustrated and needing something to abhor instead of her situation in life. She disliked the taste of most alcohol, but the wine she could stomach usually reminded her that there were people more miserable than her in the world, if they could stomach that swill and still consider it an improvement over their current mental state.

She didn't know that much about wine, obviously. But it seemed that there were different varieties and her late nemesis indulged in the better kind. The estate had an extensive wine cellar and, given that she and her mother usually consumed less than a bottle weekly, the stash could last for longer than their combined lifespans.

"Have whatever you want." she said, waving an arm around ambiguously when Fenris didn't seem to know what to do. "I won't be able to stomach it otherwise."

There were glasses there ready, of course, in case the "incompetent" help forgot them out of fright, even some makeshift seating. No one could say that this place was unprepared for the unexpected.

Fenris served her glass without being asked for it, with the kind of movements that showed this was a practiced act. So, bodyguard, sex slave and waiter? Nothing out of the ordinary there, oh no, Hawke noted to herself, swallowing a little of the white wine and realizing that good wine didn't necessarily give her enough to direct her animosity at.

And she needed to do something, or at least talk about something, otherwise she'd have these negative feelings fester in herself and end up with nightmares and cast accidental spells in her sleep…

"So how long until they try to stomp me into the dirt? At the ball or will they be courteous enough to wait after it?" she asked when it became obvious that nothing less than a pointed glance and conscious effort would prompt the elf to sit down, much less speak.

"It depends on your meaning, Mistress." the elf said slowly. "Are you worried about direct assault or just the customary scheming?"

It wasn't much, but it was progress. Hawke would get that personality out in the open – it was her pet project, in a way. There were many damaged souls in this place, but this one had been twisted the most of all of them.

She grinned a little. "Speak your mind, please. And have a drink. Or rather, have mine." Hawke held out the half-finished glass for him to take. "I can't stand this stuff."

The elf took it tentatively, then observed the glass as if she had handed him a stuffed unicorn. Then, carefully, he took a sip and apparently didn't understand why she had made such a face upon doing the same, because he drained the glass faster than Carver would have grabbed a toy sword to see how sharp it was.

"It isn't so bad, Mistress. The drink, I mean. I understand that your country's mages are organized differently than those here."

If it didn't concern her so intimately, Hawke might have laughed at how innocently uninterested Fenris tried to appear. He obviously wanted to hear about the outside world, but she had the sneaking suspicion that it was based on a self-suppressed desire to see a reversal in the societal order Tevinter was famous for.

She obliged and explained, in short, that mages were far from being in power in Ferelden. The elf looked intensely intrigued; he had very likely never heard about this before.

"Still think my land is barbaric?"

Fenris recoiled a little; it was a loaded question if he had ever heard one. "I'm sorry you suffered, Mistress." he said carefully, "And I'm grateful for your presence here beyond what I can express." Suspicious of her he might still be, but anyone and anything would be an improvement over Danarius.

His Mistress laughed heartily, not appearing at all offended. "Perhaps you'd like to try your hand at politics. You certainly have the insightful conversation down."

There was a compliment hidden in there somewhere and Fenris decided to take it as one. And, given the opportunity, he went on to press the advantage. "Mistress, I don't think you should go to this ball." he noted grimly.

"It's supposed to be in my honor." Hawke scoffed, "I don't really have the luxury of refusing as a newcomer."

"Still, there will be vultures all around you there. If you invited them here individually, it would be much easier to keep them in check."

"I imagine that was the previous policy here." Before Fenris could protest, his Mistress poured him more of the wine. "I'd love to, but I can't afford to antagonize everyone at the start. I'm not well-established enough. Don't worry, we'll get there."

Fenris was somewhat skeptical, but didn't really comment on that. He had never been allowed any kind of proper alcohol, but this was most decidedly the quality stuff. His rewards usually weren't so sizable even if he managed to kill some kind of society rival. Either his new Mistress could read him much better than he thought or he'd have to start wondering if this was going to be standard fare in the new regime.

"I'll just have to smile and you don't forget your sword." his Mistress apparently found the idea amusing. "I'll handle the friends-making and you handle the intimidating."

The elf had sort of assumed that he was going, but, as he couldn't yet predict her thinking so well, he was just a bit surprised to hear her delegate such a task so openly. She didn't mince words, certainly.

Of course, that meant a task had been delegated to him properly, and that couldn't be ignored. He was dismissed when his Mistress went to her room to dress for the journey to the tailor – apparently, another notice had arrived, with the information that she was expected at her convenience, preferably today – but kept track of her movements. She wasn't taking anyone else with her, since her siblings were still exploring the house and the mother was apparently going to be the one to sort through the gifts based on their worth. Apparently, she was indeed a noblewoman by birth and, used to receiving gifts, she could actually tell which were worth keeping.

He still wasn't allowed to help his Mistress dress or see her naked, let alone be in her presence in those instances. It was strangely insulting, if only a little.

Hawke was getting used to find Fenris waiting for her wherever she went. He was sometimes at her destination before she had reached it herself, be it in the estate or outside of it. Granted, she had only left a select few times since moving in, but it was uncanny how easily the elf was able to vanish even from her sight – and she was an expert in noticing templars waiting for her.

But Fenris moved like a shadow, as if he wasn't to be even noticed. Considering the peculiarity of his appearance, to say nothing of his rough beauty, this was quite an accomplishment. It unnerved her, this constant presence in her wake, but also saddened her, and not simply due to her loss of privacy.

Which was not to say she wasn't finding herself oddly glad for the presence of a most proficient swordsman devoted to her protection at her side. Carver had managed to drag her out to observe the estate guard, all in custom uniform, ready to salute her. Her brother was hardly a shabby swordsman, even if he would have perhaps fared better with an axe or a hammer, due to his focus on hitting hard instead of practicing finesse. The guards at least had the courtesy to not let him win easily when being shown off, as far as Hawke could tell – she was hardly an expert in such things, though. Then Carver had made the cocky mistake of questioning if Fenris made an adequate bodyguard for his sister, given that they were supposed to be evaluating the staff.

Even without the general silence that had fallen over the courtyard, Hawke would have easily known that this was a Very Bad Idea on his part. Rufus had launched a string of assurances that there was no comparing the prize of their menagerie – his words, which Hawke still resented – but Fenris had appeared quite impassive before glancing at her.

"If my Mistress wishes it, I will endeavor to prove myself to her."

Hawke had felt like when entering the Spire of Dreams before the duel, all eyes fixed on her, except not in disgust, but in fearful anticipation. And yet, there was something in that subservient expression that Fenris still had directed at her that indicated either a willingness to entertain this notion or a challenge to her, possibly both.

She had allowed it, on the condition that no one killed anyone. And since receiving the soundest and quickest thrashing in years, Carver had taken to grudgingly eying the elf once in a while when talking to his sister. His pride had been saved a little by the fact that the entire contingent of the guard had fared little better at the task of subduing Fenris and their challenger was considerably less gentle with them.

Thus Carver had gotten a few well-placed bruises out of the ordeal, and Hawke the knowledge that the intricate designs on her bodyguard's skin were made of lyrium. She would have realized that even without Rufus dutifully reciting the expenses related to such an experiment and how proud an accomplishment this had been to Danarius.

That it was a remarkable and unique thing was without a doubt. That it was appalling and perverse fell under the same category.

Hawke didn't need to see any research notes to understand that it was a Maker-made miracle that Fenris had survived whatever process had given him his peculiar abilities. Contact with raw lyrium alone would have killed most non-dwarves, but having it injected into one's body… she couldn't imagine the pain.

"Could I ask you a personal question?"

The tailor for whose workshop they were bound lived in a different district of the city and Minrathous was a sizable and busy place to live. It was only the two of them in the carriage; Hawke had been reluctant to let her family out of the safety of the estate yet until she learned how her new position was viewed among the magocracy. She was powerful, for certain, but she couldn't afford to be completely isolated.

Fenris appeared puzzled by the request. It was saddening enough that he had at first regarded her careful politeness with great suspicion and only later learned to accept it as what was probably a quirk in his eyes. It was the notion that a question might be personal and that she would even need permission to demand anything of him that was peculiar now.

Fortunately, Hawke knew enough by now not to expect an answer. "Do you have any family? Some of the slaves in the estate are families, or they have relatives in the city."

The elf's eyes seemed to fog for a moment, lost in memory. Perhaps this was too painful a topic to breach and Hawke was just about to voice an apology for being too intrusive when his white hair shook in negative answer.

"I don't know, Mistress. I – I remember… I've always been in the estate."

"You were very young when you came, then?" Perhaps he was an orphan; that would be no great surprise, in a city like this.

To this, Fenris finally frowned. "No, I wasn't. I don't really think I was much younger than I am now. Five years or more, I remember, but…" There was no pain in his face, simply an absence of emotion. One could hardly miss something one had never had, and there was apparently no memory of ever having had it; thus Fenris didn't show any sign of missing his previous life. "Nothing before that."

Hawke bit her lip thoughtfully. Amnesia was hardly a supernatural occurrence, but given his unique condition, she was a little suspicious about it. With a mental note to search the estate up and down for any possible research notes, she did her best to bring forth her most encouraging smile, the one reserved for desperate situations and, increasingly, Fenris alone.

"My childhood was mostly spent on the run from templars. Attitude towards magic is entirely different outside of Tevinter, as I told you." She had spoken in generalities previously; now, she was using her own family as an example. "With three mages in the family, we were constantly on the move to avoid prosecution."

Outside of her family, Hawke's number of friends amounted to zero at this point. And if she wanted to make a confidant out of someone, she decided that settling on someone who had already seen her mostly naked (her cheeks felt a little warmer upon that thought) and was doing everything possible to prove himself to her (no matter how twisted his logic for that) was hardly the worst bargain.

Fenris was watching her intently, still uncomprehending of the reason for her confession but drinking in every word.

"I would not be entirely averse to forgetting some of that." Hawke finished, with a small rueful smile. "But that would mean forgetting about Papa, which isn't worth any prize."

Her attempts at encouraging him to speak without being first spoken to were an uphill battle at best, but this time, she was not to be denied results, even at the cost of a longer than necessary pause.

"You… you mentioned three mages in your family, Mistress. Your father… he doesn't live with your family. Did he not make it out of Ferelden?"

He made it sound as if her homeland was a place of horror and barbarism untold, which would have been amusing, if not said with such conviction.

"He did." It was still a tender topic, though, even if it had been years now. Trust Fenris to go for extremes, no matter what the subject. "We were five of us when we arrived in Minrathous. It's also the reason why I was the one to gain the position of Magister and why it was at Danarius' expense."

The carriage arrived at its destination before she was needed to elaborate, since her attention was required elsewhere, but Hawke got the impression she had at least given Fenris something to ponder. She certainly had things to consider, attempting to decipher his thought process in the several hours she was forced to spend being measured, manhandled, turned and positioned for the dressmaker's needs.

Perhaps it was taking so long due to the anxiety issue every single slave entrusted with taking care of her seemed to develop whenever they met her or Fenris' gaze, or the fact that, from what she had managed to gather from gossip channels in the city, she was still a veritable sensation. A ball in her honor was certainly not the most pleasing of punishments, even if the invitation fortunately didn't extend to her family.

Among the many letters she had received since assuming her position, requests for being on her arm for the event were beginning to multiply, each listing a multitude of reasons and accomplishments of the gentleman – and, a few times, lady – in question. Those titles she used lightly, but imagined that her skill at pretense would have to improve if she was to survive in this place.

Getting to the top was the easy part of survival, after all.

She was already having a hard time hiding these invitations from her mother – Bethany helped, somewhat sympathetic, having found out by accident after Hawke had used one of them as a bookmark for a popular publication – and accepting any would mean suggesting a formal alliance. She would have to be careful about taking such a step.

She was presented with one fabric after another, most of them she had never seen before, let alone had names for, many obviously more expensive than any piece of cloth should be, in her humble opinion. Since she was hardly an expert on luxury – she had only recently become one on untangled hair – and so left the decision primarily up to the veritable beehive of tailors and seamstresses. Only after she had learned that she wouldn't be the one paying for this excessive money-wasting.

Fenris remained almost entirely impassive throughout the proceedings, almost bored, but Hawke entertained the thought that he never quite crossed that threshold because it was her who was being manhandled. In fact, given how threateningly he had stepped between her and the chief tailor when the man presumed to attempt to kiss her hand, it was an impressive feat of willpower on his part that no one was missing a finger or two yet.

And while they may have gone there simply to have the measurements made, upon hearing that she possessed only a few austere gowns, Hawke wasn't allowed to leave before being offered enough gowns to dress every single person working at her estate, including perhaps the horses.

All in all, she considered it mostly a waste of a perfectly good day, right up till the end. Her companion appeared to shake some weight from his shoulders when they carriage back home, and even more so when they returned to the estate. Still, this time Hawke noticed that he offered her assistance to climb out of the carriage only reluctantly and his brow creased despite the gentleness of her touch.

She put her mind to locating any notes regarding his situation and regretted it almost instantly. Hawke had intended to share the knowledge with her sister, who had already asked a few questions about her peculiar guard, but she could barely manage to reread about the heinous experiment.

Of more relevance was the fact that even if Danarius hadn't taken note of their names – likely considering them too insignificant to notice – apparently, Fenris did indeed have a family. A sister and a mother, whom he had requested to be freed from their slave status upon winning the dubious honor of his markings. Hawke felt something inside her stir at this revelation. She wondered if she would be able to make a similar sacrifice, if it meant saving her family from the need to flee whenever templars  
>reared their ugly heads.<p>

A more relevant speculation was whether or not she should reveal these things to him.

"You are upset, Mistress." At least she had gotten him to speak to her on his own initiative these days. She must have given the paper a nastier glare than usual, seated behind the heavy oak desk as she was.

"No, I- all right, yes, I am. A little." she admitted when green eyes scrutinized her with something close to indulging doubt. She could hardly describe how good it felt to spot even traces of expression in Fenris' usually impassive gaze. "It's not important."

"Have I done something to displease you?"

"No! No, not at all! You can't assume that anything that spoils my mood is any fault of yours." With a sigh, Hawke put the papers away, pulling her chair a little closer to where Fenris sat perched against the wall. He kept refusing any chair, but she was working on changing that. "Why would you even think such a thing?"

The elf averted his eyes, as if caught stealing cookies from the pantry, but it was an expression laced with more genuine anxiety. "You ask nothing of me, Mistress. I can only imagine I must have done something to upset you beyond any measure of punishment."

Hawke felt herself wince. Before she could think about it too much, she was kneeling next to him on the floor, with such quickness that surprised even the preternaturally fast elf. "Fenris, you know that I could free you of your servitude."

This earned her a bowed head and a frantic plea. "Please do not send me away, Mistress! Whatever I have done, it will never happen again!"

She had cried last upon discovering her father slain by a sneering magister, whereupon she had promised to herself to never show such weakness to any Tevinter. Her oath was being severely tested now.

"I wouldn't do such a thing to you, don't you understand that yet? What I offer isn't punishment, but freedom. You wouldn't have to obey anyone's command and live free."

For a moment, Fenris almost seemed to consider it, frowning. "Where would I go? What would I do?" he said finally, his voice just a touch hollow. "Anyone in Tevinter would know me a slave at a glance. Some would attempt to claim me simply for the markings on my skin." He rarely ever acknowledged the intricate patterns so openly, and Hawke almost thought she saw them flare blue a little. "I have no future as a free creature."

"Isn't there anything you wish you could do but can't?"

The elf seemed to be looking through her instead of at her. It was a somewhat uncomfortable notion, to be so intensely studied while at the same time so completely ignored. "You have already robbed me of the one thing I would have dared to do." This was bold language, coming from him. "I am indebted to you for that, if for nothing else."

Hawke didn't realize at first what he meant by this, but she soon realized that there was only one thing she had done that truly affected Fenris. She was completely at a loss for words, which didn't happen often. What was she to do – say he was welcome? Try to explain herself? She didn't really think mere words would be sufficient for the occasion.

"You could have ended his life a thousand times while he was asleep, at your mercy."

"He was my master." Fenris said simply, as if that resolved everything. In his logic, it probably did.

"He wasn't worth the effort made to bury his corpse." Hawke countered, her expression darkening. Somehow, the elf appeared just a little pleased by this. "If I had known the full extent…"

"I am sorry for your lord father, Mistress." Fenris continued, saving her the need to say something extremely awkward. "He would have doubtless been proud of your great achievements here." There was something off about the way he said it, like less of a compliment and more of a disdainful admission. "A Magister of the Tevinter Imperium."

"My father was no lord." She retorted, remembering Malcolm's hearty laugh and kind nature fondly. If that wasn't the antithesis of a magister, she didn't know what was. "And I care little for titles myself. All I want is for my family to be free to live their lives in peace."

"And are they?" Fenris asked doubtfully, wordlessly pointing out the limits her new station had brought with it. "Saying someone is free doesn't immediately make it so."

There was a sad truth to those words, even if Hawke would have preferred not to admit such a thing. She was proud enough not to fully concede the point so easily, however. Besides, it had given her another topic she wished to breach, this conversation, even if she hadn't known it a moment ago.

"The truly free can most likely say not to tedious society balls without the fear of the consequences. I hardly relish the thought of going." She tried to make light of the conversation, even if she didn't fully succeed. "At least I won't be left alone with my barely-concealed disdain for the occasion. You would be willing to come along with me, I take it?"

It was the first true request she had made of him and, unsurprisingly, the elf's carefully hesitant tone barely concealed his eagerness to please. "If it pleases you, Mistress, I will be right by your side." It pleased him, clearly, as he always rebuffed her concerns about his health and comfort with the comment that his place was protecting her.

Hawke allowed herself a little smile. She didn't really notice how uncomfortable it seemed to make him when she spoke to him as an equal, let alone if she wasn't towering above him in an expression of physical superiority, but sitting at his side. "I don't mean as merely my protector. I mean as my escort. I dare presume I'm allowed one."

Again, she succeeded in puzzling the elf; or rather, this time he seemed unwilling rather than unable to comprehend. "I am your slave, Mistress. It is entirely too generous of you to allow me to accompany you in that capacity. You-you cannot even be considering such a thing. It would be a disgrace to you and your house."

"I am still Fereldan by birth. More disgrace to be added to my collection is hardly anything of great concern. And I'm asking you, not commanding or permitting." He would have his freedom, regardless of whether or not he realized it.

Fenris swallowed emptily, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. What he had to think of her, Hawke could barely imagine. "Would it please you if I accepted?"

Hawke was quick enough to notice she wasn't being simply humored this time, which was progress in itself. But she was treading on thin ice now, so care was necessary. She had a brief, mad urge to trap him in an embrace and promise a great many things, some that even she couldn't hope to realistically keep, but restrained herself. He could once more see it as a gesture of an intimate kind, and the magister didn't fully trust herself to possess enough willpower to resist making a decisive mistake twice, especially with the memory of the last time still occasionally plaguing her thoughts.

"I'd have to cry myself to sleep if I were rejected." Just a hint of laughter in his expression. Progress. "I enjoy your company, Fenris. But I will abide by your decision in this matter."

He did have some freedom, and Hawke was determined to show him just that. There was something akin to hope in his eyes when he finally looked at her, thoughtful and still a little awed. "It is my honor to comply with your wishes."

Hawke gave a brilliant smile, quite aware that she was still under careful scrutiny. "I was going to be the scandal of the society anyway, so we might as well give them something to think about."

She managed to drag herself back to her feet, with mild difficulty, partly even hoping that the elf would stop her instead of merely looking at her half-venerably, half-bewilderedly.


	9. Eight

New content, not present in the LJ version, here we come! By the way, this version will probably turn out to be longer, more complicated and a bit less fluffy (and less straightforward, too). As for the questions about if the Hawke family will make it intoKirkwall- I doubt it at this point, but it could still happen... and I do intend for several familiar faces to appear throughout the story.

**o.O.o**

**Eight**

**o.O.o**

The fabrics began arriving that very day, just a little after lunch. The potential dresses started coming a day later. And not just the single one she had requested - enough for a whole new wardrobe. Someone had taken pains to find out about her situation and try to slither into her good graces.

At least Mother appeared to be in seventh heaven; this was finally the kind of life she had wished for her children, instead of roaming the streets as little more than thugs. Hawke almost wanted to suggest that she go to the ball instead, but immediately regretted such thoughts. Leandra Hawke was hardly suited to such a party, especially with the likes of the crème-de-la-crème of Tevinter. And if something happened to Mother, people would have to die.

So instead, Hawke busied herself with paperwork and left the dress-choosing to her Mother. Maker knew she had more refined tastes and was far more interested in this kind of thing. She was even given free reign about the price, as Hawke had found out that they hardly lacked for money now.

Danarius had been a crafty bastard; aside from research into magic, he was involved in various business ventures, some of them actually veering on the Fereldan definition of legal. Of course, they were all perfectly legitimate in Tevinter eyes, at least on the outside.

Hawke had to make a decision that she wouldn't come to regret. The easiest way to clear her conscience would be to just close all the slavers down; at least those she could reach. The downside of that possibility was losing the opportunity to actually help those people that way.

"These were some of the old master's most profitable arrangements." Rufus hastened to explain when he recognized the contemplative glint in her eyes. The steward insisted on helping her sort out any necessary paperwork - in reality, this meant stopping her from cutting off the estate's best sources of funding.

Hawke understood the language of money, even if she didn't like it. "I understand the cultural acceptability of such things here. But I want to negotiate a deeper involvement with the procedures."

"Mistress?" Obviously, that wasn't a reply customary for a freedom-loving Fereldan.

"I want to be able to routinely inspect the health of the slaves and their transport conditions." The very words felt foul, but she had to speak the proper way. "I will not have prices diminished due to improper sanitation."

And, of course, the language of money was well understood. One could just feel the unspoken sigh of relief from the steward. "Of course, Mistress. We want to only be dealing with quality merchandise. I will inform the handlers myself."

"No need. I think the system remains a little inefficient. I mean no offense, Rufus, but I believe we can spare the money for someone else to run my accounts. The household is vast enough for one person to manage and I should prefer more eyes looking at fewer things."

If the steward was offended, he took pains not to show it, but Hawke could practically sense the disapproval hanging in the air. "If you wish, Mistress. The old master preferred not to allow others to see into his affairs - dealings with gold of this magnitude can make any accountant greedy."

Old master this, old master that. No one dared speak the bastard's name out of fear of offending her, but Hawke almost bristled nonetheless. Even now, a ghost was haunting this house. A ghost to be eradicated.

"And now I prefer to do things this way. Will we have a problem about this?" she asked, with a little more venom than she intended. The elderly human didn't deserve such a tone, but the damage was done.

And sometimes, it was oddly satisfying to see someone cower before her a little.

"Of course not, Mistress. I will send out word that you are in need of an educated person for this. I'm afraid that a slave will not suffice for these purposes - greed aside."

This surprised her somewhat - Hawke had thought that slaves were basically all-purpose in Tevinter, but she let it go. She had intended to suggest they hire someone competent anyway. Preferably someone not Tevinter.

When the steward left, she glanced at yet another supplier's ship manifesto. Antivan pirates, mostly. And, curiously, there were a few apparently captured during ambushes on qunari ships. She had all but forgotten how close to Par Vollen and Seheron they actually were now.

There were some qunari even in Tevinter, of course, but she had yet to see a single mage among them. Still, it was her resolution to help anyone brought to her attention as a slave, even if it involved freeing them from themselves in some capacity. She had been appalled to realize that being a slave meant more than just servitude in Tevinter; one was expected to lose almost all sense of self.

There were almost a hundred slaves in the Hawke estate alone and every one of them had responded with suspicion and fear when their food had begun to rise in quality and their peculiar new owner insisted on providing them all with clothes that actually kept some semblance of heat.

Baby steps. She hadn't been in town long enough to make a true difference.

But Fenris was where she wanted to start. The elf followed her around like an obedient dog - one wary of being struck at every moment, but obedient nonetheless. In fact, it was getting difficult to be rid of him even if she asked to be left alone; she didn't have the heart to command him to give her some space, especially after snapping once and receiving a thoroughly dejected yet somewhat indignant look.

The worst thing was that he seemed to perceive the blame to lie with him.

While Mother dealt with clothing arrangements and Carver was trying to play captain of the guard, Hawke decided to take a break and visit her sister, who hadn't yet abandoned her vigil in the requested a room close enough to be able to dash into the place whenever she liked and Hawke half-suspected she'd be willing to sleep there, if a bed would be moved in for her.

"You remember how we were never allowed to have too many books?" Bethany would say. "Too heavy to carry around if we had to flee, too expensive most of the time... well, this is probably the only reason I'm not miserable in this horrible city."

There were small things to take comfort in, of course.

But Hawke had a very specific purpose in mind this time and knew that the library was the best place to start.

"How are you doing, Madame Librarian?" she joked upon entering the place. As usual, Bethany's nose was deep in a book and only the two or three cleaners around (human slaves, this time) gave a start at her sudden entrance. Hawke immediately noticed they were taking great care to be as far from her sister as possible, let alone the staff laid on her desk.

"I don't think I'll be able to read all the books in here in my lifetime. Though I can try." The younger Hawke grinned, seeming happy for the first time in a while now. Genuinely happy, not making-fun-of-Carver happy. "How did you manage to lose your broody bodyguard?"

Bethany was a bit on edge when Fenris was around. Intrigued, but somewhat nervous. Hawke imagined that was part of the 'intimidation of rival mages' package of his job.

"I think wine doesn't entirely agree with him. At least, not in large quantities." Hawke shrugged innocently. "How was I supposed to know he'd finish the whole bottle if I asked him to take my drink?"

"At least it saves you the trouble of getting sleep potions for him." That would have been a breach of trust for Fenris, certainly, and Hawke didn't want to go that far. "I don't know how you can stand the permanent vigil over you. Especially after getting attacked like that."

"It wasn't his fault." Hawke's response was practiced, automatic and oft-repeated.

Bethany finally closed her book, carefully marking the page she had finished on. "I know. I just wouldn't want to trade places with you, that's all. And with my luck, I would have burned down the room after such a night." Which was how the younger mage usually dealt with threats, of course. "Anyway, what's up? Did you want me to burn all the slaver deals, smuggling contracts and other illegal activities of this household sealed in your desk. Because I could."

"The offer is appreciated, but no. I've actually come to see if you've managed to find some of Danarius' research notes."

Bethany's nose wrinkled delicately, which just about summed up her feelings on the matter. "The blood magic section is rows five to twenty on the right, if you care to have a look. I hope you haven't eaten anything in the past two hours, though."

"Thanks for the recommendation. But I'd be more interested in lyrium usage and application."

If that wasn't a give-away, nothing was, and Bethany was far quicker than most. "Say no more. I've been curious too, but I haven't exactly been looking for that kind of thing yet… and I doubt Danarius would be stupid enough to just leave such notes just lying around here, even if it is a private library. You could try asking Fenris about this, you know."

"I have." Hawke plopped into the nearest chair, trying not to sulk. She had tried, in gentler and subtler ways, but there were great reasons why she didn't wish to go further. "But all he remembers from the ritual is constant agony, which hasn't entirely ceased yet, I might add. And I mean that literally."

"As in?" Her sister prompted, stopping the search momentarily.

"As in, he remembers nothing prior to the ritual."

Bethany whirled around to face her sibling, books still in her hands. She spared the cleaners a glance, but they were stubbornly insisting on pretending they weren't there, which likely meant that their confidentiality could be trusted, to a point. Or they already knew most of these things and didn't really attribute Hawke's interest to anything more than morbid scientific curiosity.

"Oh. That would be problematic, then." Discarding the current books – but making certain they were correctly placed back on their shelves – she went to try and get new ones. "I'm not certain if I can find anything relating to such rituals here… do you want me to try?"

"It would certainly be appreciated. I can help, if you need me to."

"There's too many books for just one person to go through quickly." Bethany pointed out, already fishing out an entire stack of possible volumes and putting them in front of her sister. The pile made a loud thud that startled the slaves and it was a downright wonder that most of he ancient tomes didn't just fall apart. It had to be magic.

"I'll go through them while you search?" Hawke offered, knowing that her sister knew the sacrosanct library far better than she did by now.

Bethany allowed herself a small smile. "It depends on how much time you have before some new disaster requires your immediate attention." And, of course, what her intentions with the knowledge found were, but the younger Hawke didn't go that far.

Leaning back on her chair and rubbing her eyes – a bad habit of hers, which often enhanced the faint circles around them – Hawke grabbed the first book as if she were ready to arm-wrestle with it. And she did so with surprising gusto.

"We really ought to get started, then." she muttered, wondering how much time she had before a distinctly grumpy elf gave her hell for allowing him the luxury of sleep.

**o.O.o**

The elf in question didn't wake up until several hours later and immediately got into a panic fueled by genuine anger at himself. One, his sword was missing – which was a crisis enough by itself. Two, he was in an unfamiliar room without any recollection as to how he might have gotten there. And three, his Mistress was nowhere in sight.

The first two problems, at least, were easily rectified. His sword was on the nearest table (while he himself had been very awkwardly sprawled on a divan in one of the many guestrooms of the estate. Given that there was a thin blanket on the floor (which he must have tossed aside at some point) and a glass of water with bare bread on the table. The elf could easily guess who had put him there.

He remembered the horrible trip to the tailor – well, horrible in the sense of having to endure countless hours of senseless prattle and watch his Mistress struggle with obviously trying not to burn every person in the place to a crisp. Then, of course, the journey home, when she had been far too quiet and had (gently but on purpose) hit her head against the carriage door on purpose a few times, possibly berating herself for the decision to go through with it.

And then, once again, she had tried to get herself to like alcohol, couldn't stomach more than two sips and proceeded to play hostess, as if he were some kind of guest at her home. Given the migraine Fenris could feel coming on, she might have had the right idea about the drinking. Still, he couldn't remember if he had said anything, or even parts of what she had said, which was certainly bad etiquette, if nothing else.

For that alone, punishment was necessary, but the most unforgivable crime was leaving his Mistress unattended and actually taking up her time with any kind of care for him. It made the elf suspicious, even now, that she bothered with such things, but he couldn't help but be grateful for the water.

His Mistress wasn't in her room or her study, which were her primary hideouts, nor was she dining with her family yet. Judging from previous interactions, it was unlikely that she was willingly spending time with her brother, so Fenris temporarily ruled that out. Sister or mother, then, possibly.

He hardly wanted to get involved with anything resembling the preparations for the ball. Even with his Mistress's odd, almost perverse request to come with her, Fenris had no illusions about his place when they would go there. He would protect her and intimidate others, and it would be a fine gesture of her establishing easy ownership over the whole estate, without any problems. It seemed the Hawke family was settling in very nicely.

The Mistress was more shrewd than she let on, or perhaps just able to make lucky guesses with ease. Either way, her position would be fortified.

The library was littered with books on every table, which meant little to Fenris; if he had no idea what was on the pages, why would the masses of paper be interesting to him in the least? But there was the general feeling that his Mistress had been here, at least for a while, because she was the one less prone to tidiness among the sisters.

True enough, the dark-haired mage emerged from one of the aisles, ready to carry more books back to their proper place. She immediately gave a start when seeing Fenris; the elf supposed that if her staff didn't lay discarded somewhere, she would have reached for it on instinct.

It saved him having to explain how come he had dared raise a sword against his Mistress's sister, because a weapon drawn at him triggered some reflexes of his own most of the time.

"Lyri isn't here." she said uselessly, repeating things that were clear to him already. "There were some problems with the garden fountains and she had to go take a look... order repairs and so."

"Thank you, Lady Bethany." Fenris had only one mistress, and it felt wrong to refer to this mage with that word, no matter how closely related they were. "Forgive my intrusion."

"Oh, not at all." she said, but looked relieved to be getting rid of him so soon.

The elf passed the remaining sibling on his way out, which would have provoked more surprise out of him if his Mistress were within sight - the male twin rarely if ever ventured anywhere near anything as static as books, and probably knew about as much about reading as some of the more educated slaves.

Carver, on the other hand, gave the elf a sound glare, still sore over their previous match. He was a show-off, that elf, just like his sister. No wonder they ended up together in a twist of fate - not that he needed a bodyguard, but Carver couldn't imagine this sort of attitude towards himself or Bethany.

His twin showed the proper amount of surprise at seeing him enter her domain, though. "The decorative weapons are downstairs in the main entrance hall." she said after recovering. "There aren't many books about blades here..."

"Oh laugh it up, Beth. I was just going to see if Her High-and-Mightiness is around here. Apparently, we can't get proper dinner before she's seated at the head of the table."

"It isn't dinnertime yet." the mage pointed out, shelving yet another book.

"Maybe not for you tip-toeing mageflowers it isn't." Carver retorted gruffly, taking the seatIllyriahad vacated some hours prior.

His sister couldn't resist frowning and biting her lip. Compared to the immaculate if simple gownIllyriahad worn, Carver's leathers were downright filthy from training and his boots had obviously seen better days.

"So, how does it feel to be normal at last?" he asked after contemplating whether or not to even touch one of the treacherous books and deciding against it.

"You forget that mages can be slaves even here, brother."

"True, but that's not our case. You're a magister's sister now, with the same kind of powers. Isn't that nice?" Carver muttered, as if he'd just swallowed a cup of acid to wash down a razorblade. "Now I'm the odd one out."

Bethany sighed a little, leaning against the shelves. Her twin had never quite come to terms with being the only non-mage among the siblings, but twisting it around this way just wasn't fair to either of the sisters.

"It isn't as if we chose to have these powers. If we didn't have them, we could still be in Ferelden." And not surrounded by strangers pretending to wear faces of friends. "What do you want me to do about it, apply for the tranquility ritual so that you can feel better about yourself?"

"That's not- never mind." It wasn't as if anyone could do such a thing in Tevinter anyway, especially to the descendants of the Amells. "What was the elf doing here?"

"Same as you, looking for Lyri."

Carver made a gruff sound that might have been a sigh or a snort. "Of course, who else should the world revolve around? Mother's still sorting out through those ridiculous presents. I think we actually got a live peacock - can you believe these people?"

The mage grimaced, but it morphed into a grin a while later. "I thought we already had the pride-prancing and self-worth strutting covered by someone else, didn't we? Whatever shall we do?"

"Oi, watch it, Sparkey." Her brother wasn't nearly as dense as Bethany might have hoped. Even if he were, his sense of having to overcompensate was excellent at detecting jibes, be they real or imagined. "Or I'll tell Mother that you just can't bear the thought of not going to this lovely and wonderful ball. What a blow to your girlish heart that is and how you simply must go."

The simpering, mocking voice hardly suited him, but Carver managed to make a good attempt.

"Low blow, Sulky." Bethany retorted, resisting the childish impulse to stick out her tongue at him. "You'd have to be my escort, though. I just couldn't leave my dearest brother home alone."

"Right." Carver said flatly, giving his educated opinion of the thing. "Anyway, come downstairs and back me up in getting dinner. Maybe they'll listen to a mage more than they do to me."

"What if they won't?"

"No skin off your back, since you obviously eat those books of yours," Here Carver deftly dodged a blow aimed at his shoulder, showing the ease of practice. "and you can distract them with your tricks while I go off to grab something of substance."

The confrontation of Carver and the escaped prize peacock that had hidden itself near the kitchen was one for the ages, and something Bethany wouldn't forget in an entire lifetime.

Fenris missed it, of course, being long out of the building by the time it happened. The place had vast gardens, parts immaculately trimmed, some made to appear like a casual wilderness, depending on what Danarius preferred at any given moment. Usually, though, they were filled with statues overgrown by vegetation and untended fields of grass. It wasn't the most representative part of the place and certainly not one regularly used.

His Mistress was there, already speaking with various slaves responsible for the upkeep of the place, going through things and dictating prices she was willing to pay for possible repairs. Apparently, one of the fountains was now entirely blocked and the interconnectedness of the pipes wasn't allowing the others to function either – as far as he could understand the body language of the people and snippets of words.

His Mistress was also getting a little better at spotting him – Fenris didn't really know if he ought to be pleased about it. He supposed it was his fault, for being so intently focused on her. The grateful feelings for being taken care of were evaporating, in a fashion, since all sorts of things could have happened to her in his absence.

And then, in attempting to move a pipe or doing something else equally foolish, one of the gardeners managed to dislodge whatever debris had been blocking the waterworks…

In a moment of perfect but unintentional aim, the stream of half-murky water hit his Mistress just as she turned her back on him to observe his current mood.

Fenris felt his markings flare up before he consciously made the attempt to get her out of there. It was a brief blur – he didn't even feel the water, if any hit him at all – and then he was holding a wet, coughing Mistress-shaped bundle in his arms. Her hair was filled with leaves and her gown was now sopping wet. Her attempts to rid herself of the muck and Fenris's glares at those responsible emphasized the brief pauses for breath among the many, many apologies.

His Mistress didn't struggle against his arms, but she didn't even give the proper signs of when he was supposed to let go. That usually involved a shove or two. She just kept trying to spit out the hair that had been blasted into her face and get it out of her eyes where appropriate. But she seemed unhurt, so Fenris was struggling to bite down the words at the tip of his tongue, berating her for not only leaving without him, but being this careless about things.

"Thank you, Fenris." she said before the elf could decide on what – if anything – to say to her about this. That silenced the avalanche of chiding.

"Are you all right, Mistress?" Fenris found himself asking instead, seeing how slight she was, curled like that, and how all her visible skin was now gooseflesh. Of course she all right, but saying anything else would have meant behaving in a thoroughly inappropriate manner.

"Milady, forgive us, we didn't know-"

"I'm fine." The Magister said, rather brusquely compared to her usual manner. "I would request that the pipes be properly cleaned and inspected before I choose to invest gold into getting them replaced. And next time, please refer this business to Rufus before you come running to me."

They were agreeing, spluttering and apologizing both at once, but Fenris wasn't really paying attention. His Mistress wasn't going to punish even the deserving. This bode ill for her future, as far as he could see. But he could handle suggesting the promise of punishment through a few well-placed death-glares.

"Mistress, your clothes." Fenris reminded her when she proceeded to start walking away from the scene, after just that simple telling off. It was a useless, obvious statement, but there were too many angry thoughts piling up in him, threatening to burst.

"Oh, right." Only the wet hair had bothered her, apparently, but his Mistress then shivered a little when she realized her state of appearance. "The chairs are all wooden in the dining room and if they get wet-"

"If that had been a blade, I wouldn't have been able to save you." the elf pointed out, entirely irked by the way she seemed to be disregarding her own safety.

"If a fool brave enough to assault me from the bushes in broad daylight could take me down, I don't think we would be speaking right now." she retorted, with all the confidence of a mage. "You're not my babysitter, Fenris. I can take care of myself, I promise."

If she were, why would she need him? Especially at that accursed ball. She apparently had no interest in him at all for any other thing, so what other reason might there be?

There was one other possible explanation, of course. Mage she might be, but her reflexes were nowhere near his. And such a short exposure wouldn't probably cause his armor to rust. So Fenris now had a handful of soaking wet robes and the mage in them, who was looking at him with a peculiar combination of wide-eyed surprise and somewhat offended pride.

"Wooden floors, Mistress." Fenris said, drops of dirty water that kept falling from the hem of her clothes proving his point.

His Mistress bristled, but the wet hair slapping against her face when she tried to wiggle silenced her objections. Fortunately, with the runaway peacock on the loose, there were far more interesting things for everyone in the hallways to stare at than a slave manhandling a magister he could have fished out of a pool, from the look of her.


	10. Nine

As it seems next week will be a bit busy for me, the next update might have to wait a while. What I intend to do is what one review mentioned – flesh out the story around the skeleton of the LJ fill, adding more interactions, more characters and decidedly more dramatic developments. And, of course, hopefully more memorable moments. I've also begun posting another LJ fill as I go along completing this one, because inspiration struck. However, Fenris is my canon DA2 romance, so this fic is still my priority.

**o.O.o**

**Nine**

**o.O.o**

With the entire estate busying itself with the wild animal running rampant, the Magister's quarters were entirely empty, with everything exactly as she had left it. As no one was expecting her to return before dinner, even her personal servants were off doing other chores to secure her future comfort.

Her current comfort was half-secured by Fenris and half-nonexistent due to her state. She was shivering now, but tried her best to look dignified and not fragile at all. It was getting more difficult when it became clear that the elf wasn't going to set her down on the ground just because they were not in the company of others now.

"You need to dry off before you freeze, Mistress." Of course, fetching a towel or a blanket for her while carrying an armful of mage. And you should wash the leaves away afterwards. Your clothes are stained."

And the sky was blue and Fenris's eyes were green. Still, it was always an achievement to get the elf to speak more than a few words at a time, so Hawke knew better than to complain. The almost jade-colored eyes were surveying her a bit too critically, though, especially after that exceedingly simply observation.

"I noticed that, believe me. And it was entirely unnecessary to carry me once we got to the stairs. I can walk on my own."

"My apologies, Mistress." Fenris didn't let her down despite this and Hawke knew better than to struggle against a warrior's grip. "It was important for me to make up for being unable to protect you previously."

"You mean the pipe? I'm fine, just soaked."

"Nevertheless, I've neglected my duty to you, Mistress." the elf continued seriously, as if every single drop from her dress that touched the ground was a personal failing of his. "I know you won't punish me, so I simply must try harder."

Hawke had just about enough of this masochistic tendency to blame every perceived bad decision on himself.

"Fenris, I honestly don't mind." She tried to kill two birds with one stone by putting her hands on the elf's shoulders, but then got forced to forming a circle around his neck when she slipped a little. Fenris readjusted his hold in an instant, but his eyes widened for a moment. "It was my idea to offer you the wine. If you like, I won't offer again. It just has far more appeal to share with someone."

Her hold was almost an embrace, which was what threw Fenris off so much. Perhaps she didn't realize it, but still, even he recognized it, and almost ended up accidentally shifting his arm in a way that would end with him getting a physical punishment, pacifist or not, for touching his Mistress's bottom.

"I wouldn't dream of refusing your generosity, Mistress." Even if it were poison in the chalice, it would have been more than he had received before. "But it is my duty to protect you and I cannot do so if you allow me to-"

"Rest?" his Mistress suggested readily. "Not have to hound my every step?"

"-neglect it by putting myself before your needs." Fenris finished, disregarding her interruption only with difficulty. She needed to understand this, so this time, it was perhaps all right. "Your well-being is more important than my… my comfort."

His Mistress grabbed the blanket he managed to navigate towards, but the choice of words didn't sit well with her. "You have just as much right to the basic necessities of life as anyone else. I won't have you collapsing of hunger or sleep deprivation." she said resolutely, as if preparing herself for battle.

With luck, it would never come to that moment. "It won't happen again, Mistress, I assure you."

"Fenris-" Even keeping at him from behind flattened hair, his Mistress looked imposing. But when she quickly turned away to sneeze, Fenris realized that she was also opening up a part of her inner barriers. She wasn't about to treat him as family, of course – the very thought was outrageous – but Fenris was seeing something not accessible to everyone.

The water had darkened his Mistress's hair to a light brown, which only made her pallor and goosebumps more apparent.

"Please let me help you, Mistress." Fenris didn't want to see her like this, even if it was new and fascinating to see. Not only didn't it suit her; it made it almost impossible to believe she could survive on her own. "I don't want you falling ill because of the incompetence of others. The punishment for their negligence is already insufficient."

"That isn't your place to decide." his Mistress countered, but it was an argument as weak as her brief shudder. The first sign was the fact that she was quoting his point of view. The second was her general pitiful state of appearance.

Fenris momentarily thought of a rain-soaked pigeon, or, more likely, a turtle-dove, trying to return to its nest.

"My apologies, Mistress." he offered flatly, "I have no right to bother you with my opinions."

"No, that isn't what I meant! I want to hear your opinions. I might not agree with them, but I want to hear them. You're inventive, loyal and clever. And I really-" Again, his Mistress turned away to almost sneeze, but managed to regain control over her shivering.

"If you can manage to dry yourself off, Mistress, I will fetch your maids to draw you up a bath." Reluctantly, Fenris set his Mistress down to stand in a freshly-emptied and cleaned laundry basket, where a little dirt hardly mattered. "They must have caught the animal already."

For the first time in a while, his Mistress looked less than disgruntled. "That bird? Knowing my brother, he's challenged it to a duel already. There isn't any need for hurry." She certainly didn't put much effort into drying her hair properly. "Could you just fetch my slippers, please? I don't want to leave puddles for Sioned to clean up."

That might have actually been called considerate of her, if the woman in question didn't revel in every instance when she could be of any use to her Magister mistress. She was one of those who took comfort in the lie that perhaps the Magisters needed them, because they couldn't really deal with these menial tasks themselves. Fenris couldn't sympathize with such creatures. Even in his years of silent obedience, he had never deceived himself by thinking that slaves were anything more than a convenience to the magocracy, or perhaps an asset.

Before this change in leadership, nothing but blindness had been possible. If she was deceiving him, this Mistress who put effort into being a-person-not-a-Magister in her home…

Fenris liked what he had seen thus far. So he picked up his Mistress once again, this time with fewer protestations from her.

"As you wish, Mistress."

Her surprised eyes were much larger and bluer up close. There were gentle shadows around them, partly due to the stress of her life, partly because of her natural disposition. "I didn't mean-"

"You said you wished to hear my opinions, even if you didn't agree with them." Fenris interrupted gently, carrying her towards where a brass bathing tub was hidden behind a fashionably decorated wooden screen. "Isn't this preferable to getting another pair of shoes damaged?"

Where was this initiative coming from? Usually, his Mistress was much better at controlling her expressions (at least, given enough time to adjust them properly). Now, the question was written all across her features.

"Thank you." She said at last, unable to come up with any objection or a better retort. Fenris set her down in the tub, where a small puddle immediately began forming around the hem of her dress. The gratefulness thinned out a little bit when neither of them moved. "I can do this on my own. I assure you that those dealing with the two peacocks downstairs have their hands full."

"I was merely going to offer to fetch the water for you myself, Mistress." Fenris noted awkwardly, feeling something constrict in his throat. Although his Mistress looked somewhat wretched still, she obviously didn't want to wait a second longer to get out of her icy clothes.

The bedsheet had covered more, albeit in a different way.

"But then who would protect me from the horrors of the bathtub?" she joked gently, despite her continuous shivers. "No, no, we're abiding by your wishes today. Could you pick me up for a little while longer?" That was accomplished easily enough. "Are you sure you can keep carrying me? I think I might be a bit taller than you."

The lack of warmth sneaking upon her meant that she was all but saying this into his neck. The spikes of his armor didn't seem to bother her.

"It is no trouble, Mistress." Fenris said, awaiting orders. But his Mistress just steadied her position in his arms and made certain he could hold her if she let go of him and sat upright.

"All right. Hold still for a moment, please." He should have realized what was going to happen, but Fenris had all but forgotten about spells and magic. But suddenly, the room was repainted in different shades of blue and white and something under his very skin reacted to the icy magic coming from his Mistress's hands.

"Fenris, are you all right? What's wrong?" His Mistress sounded alarmed. He must have made some sudden movement, or perhaps his markings had alerted her in some way – perhaps simply by flaring up, though Fenris hadn't noticed.

"I- nothing, Mistress." How could he explain feeling her energy in a way that was completely unnatural to him? "Forgive my disturbance of your focus."

His Mistress looked him in the eyes for a few more moments, perhaps waiting for a sign. Finally, she seemed appeased, but steadied herself by wrapping one hand around him again. It also steadied him, if only a little.

The magic bloomed around her outstretched hand with twice the previous explosion. This time, her remaining hand also found the skin of his neck, accidentally or on purpose, and the magic coursing through her couldn't help but seek out the lyrium in his skin.

It was a gentler trigger than he had ever felt, but a trigger nonetheless. And his Mistress saw the living lyrium, if she didn't feel it as well.

The magic stopped, with the tub almost half-full of solid ice. His Mistress was watching him for a sign of any reaction, but not only pain. The fingers around his neck remained, calming and agitating at the same time.

His Mistress nodded slightly, as if to say she saw what the problem was.

"Please let me down." Fenris obeyed, but couldn't read her anymore. The water ceased being troublesome, but perhaps that was just what he thought, because the hand just under his hairline traced its way to the nearest lyrium line just under his ear. "May I?" she asked after stopping half an inch away from it.

For a moment, he couldn't meet his Mistress's eyes, but couldn't overcome the momentary weakness. "It is your right, Mistress." His voice felt heavy in this reminder of her station.

If he could manage to look up now, he would see something beyond the pity he was coming to get used to seeing in her eyes whenever some sign of his station became visible. He would see curiosity, sympathy, but also a chilling undercurrent of anger.

His answer didn't fit her question, not really, but the permission still applied. It would have to do for the time being.

Her magic felt decidedly different from that of Danarius or Hadriana, or any other arcane impulse Fenris could remember. It was careful, controlled and, now that she understood the possibilities of reactions to it, nowhere near as direct or aggressive as before. Still, the lines etched into his skin glowed bright blue whenever the unnatural energy was nearby, even more strongly now that it was actually being directed at them.

"Does this hurt?" the Magister asked, the question sounding almost clinical.

Fenris didn't bother lying, not least of all because it would give her pause. "It always does."

Just like that, his Mistress was back, the Magister retreating into the background. The magic touching his scars shifted as well. Fenris knew very little about magic, other than how it felt as a weapon being used against the helpless. But there were differences between the energies, between how they were directed and between the flow and color, if it could be called that.

And pain didn't have to be a necessary part of magic, because it lessened in an odd, soothing manner.

"How about now?" Her hand was now fully touching his skin, but the increased pressure wasn't causing Fenris more pain. In fact, it was oddly comforting. "I'm not superb with healing magic, but there is a difference in the flow of energy… is it better?"

Fenris almost didn't recognize that she had started speaking. He had probably forgotten to breathe for a moment or two as well. The last time he had been this close to his Mistress, he hadn't bothered with looking at her. Now, he could see every detail of her eyelashes, the small droplets of water slowly rolling down her cheek and the smallest hint of freckles across the bridge of her nose. A million little things no one would ever bother to see, or be allowed to witness.

Even with the magic flaring around her, magic Fenris could still very acutely feel all around them both, nothing, not even the arcane energy he still despised could hide that she looked… she looked…

Like a person, but that wasn't the essence of things. She looked like someone he could grasp, someone within the reach of even a lowly slave like him, someone who _cared_. She was beautiful, in so many more ways than the shallow messages from her social equals could express or understand.

She was looking at him, subtly redirecting her energy in different ways to see if that got a different reaction. Each time that happened, it seemed she was a little further away. Fenris immediately berated himself for allowing his mind to wander so, but not quite as sternly as he might have done otherwise.

"It's still magic, Mistress. But it feels different." All of her magic felt different, but that wasn't something that needed to be said.

"I see." Here, she let go, just as the magic died. "Would you please go find some dry clothes for me? Nothing fancy is necessary. I can do the rest here on my own."

His Mistress wasn't looking at him anymore, instead taking care to maintain her balance as she climbed into the tub on her own. It was filled with water, warm and distinctly not solid. Fenris didn't remember when she had used her magic to melt it, or anything aside from how the absence of her felt like.

These thoughts needed to vanish. Fenris quickly muttered an "As you wish, Mistress." and got out of her bathing chamber as quickly as he could without succumbing to the temptation of willing his markings to activate. The last thing he needed was the reminder of what that felt like without anyone interfering with his own energy flows.

The sound of water dribbling likely meant that she had succeeded in removing her water-stained gown and was now attempting to partially dry the fabric by simply squeezing the liquid out of it. Or it could just mean that she had proceeded straight to the bathing.

Fenris hadn't offered to help wash her hair, or even bring her a towel. Before he could rectify either transgression – let alone summon the will to do so – his Mistress walked into the room on her own, a towel securely wrapped around her torso and a smaller one concealing her hair.

The elf swallowed a boulder that hurt every inch of the way. It was too reminiscent of the moment he had attacked her by accident, except it was his Mistress, not a mysterious stranger. And the towel was much shorter than any dress she had worn, much more so than the bedsheet or the dress laid out for her on a nearby chair.

But she _still_ looked a little startled to see him still there.

"Oh. Didn't you want to go get some food, Fenris?" she asked, almost accusingly reminding him of their previous argument. As if he could have left even before this.

"My place is at your side, Mistress. And I wasn't certain if I have chosen clothing acceptable for your purposes." He had selected a plain blue gown for her, _not in the least_ influenced by the memory of her eyes.

She outstretched her hand, which was a clear command. But Fenris took care to avoid her fingers when handing it to her for inspection, so to speak. His Mistress gave the garment an approving glance, but once more looked at him directly. Fenris felt somewhat awkward to be on the receiving end of gratitude and kindness so often.

"Thank you. It's entirely adequate." She _was_ different. She even felt different. His initial willingness to take a chance hadn't been misplaced. "Um, could you… I mean…" Shuffling her feet a little, his Mistress looked just a touch uncomfortable with something. "I'd like to get dressed now."

This was the point he should have offered to help her put on her clothes, which he didn't think he could truly manage. But Fenris could read her quite well in this moment.

"You don't require my assistance, then." He hoped, at the very least.

"No. But you can stay, if you like. Just…" Again, she did a little motion with her hand, outlining the extent of her command. "Turn away, please?"

"As you wish, Mistress." For good measure, Fenris closed his eyes as he did so. Better be safe than sorry, after all, and he intended to obey every command to the letter. "Perhaps I could help with your hair, at least?"

Except his own intention to keep his mouth shut, of course.

His Mistress stopped making the fabric rustle and thought about it for a moment. Fenris supposed she was taking down the towel wrapped around her head and assessing the state of the damage.

"I suppose I'd need to twist my arm to get all I need untangled and you can see it better." Perhaps she meant it as some kind of Fereldan joke? Fenris couldn't really tell. But his Mistress had long hair, heavy and difficult to manage. "All right." she said finally.

Fenris supposed that meant it was also safe to look, though he waited a few moments to see if the unusual amount of noise (for his standards) alarmed his Mistress in any way. It didn't, not really; she was fully dressed, if looking a bit tousled. To prevent her still-wet hair from soaking through yet another dress, she had actually pulled on a wine-red dressing gown over her clothes. This, in contrast, was possibly the highest number of layers Fenris had ever seen her wear.

She pulled up a chair to the vanity she almost never used while Fenris did his best to locate the elusive hairbrush she always seemed to discard at a random and inexplicable place. Really, it was a wonder she didn't have birds nesting in her hair, given the care she always put into losing the object as thoroughly as possible. But even little things such as finding the daily necessities were part of a slave's life, Fenris supposed, and so he found it after an intense search.

Then came the difficult part. It was such a menial task, but to the elf, it once again showed the trust his Mistress was placing in him and the normalcy of her personality whenever magic or politics weren't involved. She just sat there, almost perfectly still, leaning against her chair comfortably while he attempted to untangle the knots in her hair without resorting to violence. Fenris soon learned that he had been wrong; sometimes, even menial tasks could be quests of great difficulty. At least the leaves were gone, but his area of expertise usually involved hacking something off instead of… this.

His Mistress didn't complain even if he pulled a little, which was wonderful, given his fear of displeasing her. The moment only got peculiar whenever she awkwardly positioned her hand to dry her hair with a blast of hot air from her palm. Apparently, there were magic spells for every frivolous whim a mage might have.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you." his Mistress said out of the blue, possibly due to seeing that he was somewhat on edge whenever she reached out to give her power another try. And that he pulled away whenever she came close to accidentally touching him in the process.

Fenris had to untangle a particularly stubborn knot with his fingers. He took special care not to get any strands stuck in his clawed armor, but still felt he was being somewhat rough.

"You haven't hurt me yet, Mistress. And even if you did, I know it wasn't your intention." Unless she meant that his armor could perhaps rust a little from the extended contact with water – that would hardly count as hurt, surely.

His Mistress nodded, but still seemed somewhat unconvinced. She always chewed her lip a little when she was being forced to concede a point that wasn't her own. Or when she had to swallow more words she had on the matter.

"I thought there might be some kind of reaction if I tried using magic near you, but it seems physical contact amplifies things. I didn't intend to… trigger that, so to speak?" There was no tactful way of putting it, truly, but she was making a decent effort at things. Again, it was her right. "I might have to look into things a little further to prevent this from happening unintentionally."

Fenris grasped the twisted strands with more pressure than necessary, not that his Mistress could feel it. What she was saying was that she needed to try some new things with her magic. Test the markings.

"As you wish, Mistress. My- Danarius created these markings with the intention of being used by a mage."

"I don't need a living lyrium battery." Fenris actually found himself chuckling a little. The way she said it was so frank and matter-of-fact that even if she were just making empty promises, it was worth it. "I mean that I don't want to activate your markings if I use magic anywhere near you. Though it doesn't seem to be an issue right now." she added, superheating another gust of wind at her hair.

"I have no knowledge on that. All I know is how to use the markings for myself." Which was the honest truth. Danarius would have never given anyone such precious knowledge, not even an obedient slave with no power over his own skin.

"I remember. It's just interesting to me."

"I imagine I must look strange to you, yes."

"Everything in this country is strange to some degree. But one learns to cope." Fenris had heard only bits about Ferelden, but he knew enough to tell that life for mages couldn't be better there. "I'm just surprised that a mage can survive physical contact with the lyrium."

She was also worried about her own safety, of course, but she didn't seem to be afraid of his touch now that she had tested it in the most dangerous manner possible. The fact that lyrium could kill mages upon physical contact was news to Fenris. He knew nothing about the ritual, but Danarius had experimented with the element and survived… so there were ways of handling even materials that could kill easily. Mages truly wielded power that was unnatural, if they could cheat even certain death at close quarters.

"I'm glad that the markings didn't have the effect you feared." He wouldn't have forgiven anyone for killing her, especially if that someone was Danarius from beyond the grave, through him, no less. "If I had known, I'd have told you about that. I would have hardly been useful to Danarius as a vial of deadly poison, so to speak."

His Mistress reddened a little around the cheeks, but looked down to rearrange things on the table to hide it admirably. Raising her hair into a ponytail, Fenris combed through the underside of it thoroughly, first just with his fingers to find any leftover knots, then resuming with the brush. Now his Mistress's hair was finally back to its proper state, long and thick and very straight. It felt very soft against his hands and he wasn't doing all that badly, if his Mistress's relaxed expression in the mirror was any indication.

"I should have realized." she muttered to herself. One final (and gentler) blast of air later, her hair was finished and she looked presentable once more. Actually, those air blasts might have made things more difficult to comb out, now that Fenris thought about it, but that seemed really insignificant.

The elf helped her take off the robe, folding it away while she straightened up her dress. His Mistress smiled, but then tilted her head critically.

"Don't you have any other clothes, Fenris?" she asked unexpectedly, surveying him from head to toe. Somehow, that was slightly uncomfortable for the elf, whereas he hadn't really associated such appraisals with any distinct feeling before.

"My armor is versatile and comfortable. I require little else, Mistress."

She translated that into a simple no in her mind after a second. "What about when you need to have it cleaned? Or when you sleep? Because I believe we've established that you actually need to do that once in a while."

Inexplicably, Fenris found himself smiling. It didn't hurt as much as he had expected. "Guilty until proven innocent, Mistress. I believe I promised it wouldn't happen again."

"That you wouldn't sleep? What use have I for a sleep-deprived companion? You need to at least pretend that you're interested in what I have to say." The elf almost started saying that he was always interested in what she had to say, in spite and because of how outlandish it was most of the time.

"We can compromise, if you wish. I'll sleep when you do and feign interest in your conversation when we're both awake." he suggested instead, hoping that she'd catch at least a hint of his imploring, if passive-aggressive threats and reminders of her station proved ineffective.

"You have a deal. You'll also have new clothes, because you need them. And your own living quarters. I won't have you sleeping next to my bed like a mabari."

Fenris had heard somewhere that Fereldans preferred to sleep with their dogs, but refrained from suggesting that. It could offend her, or give her the wrong – or right – idea.

"My place is at your side, Mistress." he repeated stalwartly, as he usually had to do nowadays. The less mentioned of servitude and slavery, the better she generally reacted to it. "Every hour of the day, for whatever you may wish. My duty is to protect you, help you and stand with you always."

And, where his Mistress would previously scowl at such things, she smiled instead. "I know that." she said, "But it feels nice when you remind me."


	11. Ten

More stuff from LJ, but it will get expanded.

**o.O.o**

**Ten**

**o.O.o**

Of course, her mother eventually found about everything, including who the dubious honor of escorting her had fallen to. And it caused her no end of pleasure, apparently, that one of her children was finally distancing herself from the dangerous life of a vagabond fighter and joining high-born polite society.

Even if it was a society of bloodthirsty backstabbing-

It was the day when Hawke's gown arrived – or rather, what was supposed to be a single gown. Having it brought by Hadriana with a tow of slaves was hardly according to plan.

"Honored Magister, I am most deeply humbled by the opportunity to serve you." The hopeful apprentice hadn't changed a bit in the past weeks as far as nosiness was considered, if she had found out all these things about her arrangements.

"I sent word to you that I would review your petition to become my apprentice once I had sorted out my newfound possessions, Hadriana." Fenris, ever-present at his Mistress's side nowadays, noted the change in her personality. Faced with someone outside of her carefully-crafted little world, she may as well have been a different person, his Mistress. "Yet here you are, in my home, inserting yourself into my affairs without invitation."

The snake had backbone, but she could still bend to every angle. "My sincere apologies for the presumption, milady. I simply hoped to save you the need to waste your precious time on so mundane a task and ensure that the tailor's obligation to you was properly fulfilled." And punished if that were not the case, her wide smile full of poison added. "I have come also to humbly express my unworthy hope that you might make your decision official at the ball."

Of course there was a purpose. A promise, even simply by word of mouth, couldn't easily be denied if made before so many influential people.

Hawke saw this clear as day, but bit down the first few thoughts that came to her mind. "Rest assured that my decision will be made soon. You are, of course, aware that my education was unorthodox and my attitude towards magic is unconventional by the standards of Tevinter society."

"Your power is clear proof of the rightness of your way, honored Magister." Hadriana was all but salivating at the prospect of gaining access to new techniques of magic and Fenris found himself briefly wondering if his Mistress truly entertained the thought of keeping this creature as her student.

"Then you also know that I refuse to employ blood magic in my craft." Fenris clearly recalled his thorough study of her wrists the few moments he had seen her without sleeves – she was telling the truth. And this was a precisely aimed blow, and it hit its target with expertise.

"I… I witnessed as much at your duel." Hadriana's smile had begun to melt, even as she tried to fix it. "I had not dared presume- but surely your ladyship would consider-"

"No." When she was kind, she was a peculiar creature, but when she was resolute, his Mistress was a beautiful sight. "Not now; not ever. Does that affect your resolution?"

"Not in the slightest, honored Magister!" It was a lie, but it was allowed to slide. "I would be most proud to be apprenticed to you under any circumstances."

There was a slight twitch to his Mistress' smile, something that usually happened when her brother made a thorough spectacle of himself. "Your enthusiasm is noted. I will make my decision by the time of the ball. You may return to your home; I will see you then." No mention went of the fact that several invitations on Hadriana's part had gone deliberately unnoticed by his Mistress.

But Hadriana believed her evasion and pushing to have proven successful, even half-hearted as it was. She didn't know when to stop pressing and attempted to go for the kill.

"I shall make every arrangement to make your entrance to the celebration spectacular, milady." she cooed, tightening the noose with her presumption. "Escorting you will be the highlight of my experience."

Little did she know she had woven it around her own neck. "I don't seem to recall mentioning anything about you being the one to escort me."

"B-but it is customary-" The mask was slipping now, without hope for salvation.

"I've already arranged for someone to accompany me for the evening and I would loathe going back on my word." There was something wonderful about the way she drawled those words, if only for the sinking reaction it provoked in her supplicant's eyes. "It is your right to challenge Fenris for this privilege, of course, but-"

"The slave?" There was a shriek to remember, lacking the usual venom Hadriana reserved for punishing slaves. Fenris had almost forgotten about its ear-piercing shrillness, with the way his new Mistress had restricted this bitch's access to the mansion to zero percent. "That is- I mean, of course you would wish for a bodyguard present, milady, but I meant-"

"I might be foreign, but I'm not stupid." The magister's voice was like the crack of a whip, cold and precise. For the first time in an eternity, it was a welcome sound. "I know what you meant. "You understood me well the first time, but if you are to interrupt me in this matter every time I speak-"

"Of course- of course not, honored Magister! I apologize for my impertinence!"

"Then I might make up my mind on my choice of apprentice right now." Fenris found himself loving the way his Mistress' eyes narrowed. It was such a rare sight – she never used it with any of the slaves – and there was a daring in it that was fully worth the seething glare Hadriana sent him when it seemed that his Mistress' attention was momentarily elsewhere as her mother entered, apparently informed of the arrival of her gowns.

However, her face was slightly terse, her lips thinner than usual, which betrayed purpose. "Darling, may I speak with you for a moment?"

In the entire household, this was the one person who held true power over his Mistress, whose expression softened in an instant. How curious, that this woman with no magical power or martial skill wielded such influence.

"Of course, Mother." The change in the form of address was due to the presence of an unwanted outsider – Fenris knew that the eldest Hawke was always Mama, no matter what the occassion. "I haven't yet had a chance to have a walk in the gardens today. Fenris, would you be so kind as to show Mistress Hadriana to the door." And hopefully out of it, if he could manage it, she would have clearly liked to add, but she was pushing the boundaries of hospitality quite far as it was.

And Fenris very gratefully complied, even if it meant separating from his Mistress for a while. It involved the usual verbal abuse and attempts at triggering his markings that somehow hurt about as much as a wasp.

**o.O.o**

Leandra Hawke appeared to be somewhat appeased by these measures and looked every inch extremely glad to see the no more of Hadriana. She spent most of her days in peace nowadays, getting to know the slaves and serving, in a way, as the social liaison between the family and the staff. It was due to her very lack of magical ability that she wasn't treated with the same fear-tinted respect as Hawke and, occasionally, Bethany.

"I hope you understand I will be cross with you if you keep that hateful woman around for longer than necessary." It was peculiar to hear her mother speak so darkly of another person who had done her no open wrong. It was a testament to Hadriana's thoroughness in making impressions. "There must be other people out there who can become apprenticed to you. Or you could forego teaching others at all. You could make an excuse that your sister is to be your apprentice."

"I'm not sure I would be able to get away with such a thing, Mama." Hawke signed, having considered the idea herself. "This country has more traps we could fall into than perhaps even Ferelden. It's kind of like being allowed to go to church in Val Royaux while people wait to see if you ever cough during mass."

Leandra's small laugh was brief yet welcome. There had been too many tears shed on their journey to get where they were now.

"I worry for you, darling." Five simple words, spoken with utter honesty and accompanied by a squeeze of Hawke's arm. "I know you swore to avenge your father, may he rest in peace at the Maker's side, but you are bringing yourself into a great amount of trouble for our sakes."

"I have to do this." Illyria vowed, "We can't survive in Tevinter without any standing."

"Yes, but I wonder if it's what you truly want. You seem unhappy whenever I see you, buried behind your desk in papers." Leandra switched into the Common tongue out of habit. It always made her feel better to do so with her children. Some of the slaves knew it and most could understand bits and pieces, but it clearly brought comfort to her mother to be able to bring back a piece of home.

"I think Carver is enjoying himself for all of us." Her brother was often stuck in the garrison for the whole day, relishing the thought of playing commander to a small army. "Bethany likes the library, at least." The vast halls had become her sister's refuge and her new room was situated close enough to it to warrant only a few short steps. She was quickly becoming addicted, Hawke thought with a private smile.

"And I am happy for them, of course, but you should also be able to enjoy the benefits of your hard work for out sakes. You don't always have to be in the role you've won for yourself." A calculating look, reminding Hawke of an impish Bethany a few decades older, was then sent her way. "Or perhaps I'm no longer privy to your private affairs as I used to be, now that you have admirers."

Hawke sighed inwardly. Her mother meant well, but her idea of courtship was highly out of place in Tevinter society. Even she knew that much. "Mama, I don't think "admirers" is the correct term in this case."

"Well, I thought it might be a bit too strong to suggest that that elf of yours worshipped you, but it does seem like a better way to describe the way he looks at you." Leandra was the only one who could manage to pull off such a punch to the gut with a gentle smile, if with the hint of teasing. "Don't try to tell me you haven't noticed, dear. Do you remember when you were ten, you refused to go to Highever at first? Your father thought it was because you didn't want to leave behind your toys, but then we found out you would have missed your friend Mabel. You had started to show signs of your gift then and couldn't have too many friends, but you didn't really know how to tell us this."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Illyria would have managed to hide her small splutter from almost anyone, but her mother wasn't one of those people.

"You're not making a fuss about him, yet he's always at your side. And you're risking a lot for his sake." Leandra added before her daughter could object with the obvious answer: his position. "I know you care about everyone in this house in your own way, but that boy seems to be special to you in some way. I understand that, but I urge you caution, darling."

"He still thinks like a slave, Mama. I couldn't take advantage of that." Hawke said earnestly, with just a hint of despair. Leandra wasn't sure if it was purely due to her daughter's altruism or if she was more correct in her suppositions than she had thought.

There was also not a negative answer in that statement, which, coming from her daughter, was as good as a yes. That was her little girl, without a doubt; choosing the most difficult thorny path.

"Of course not, darling. What I meant was, you have to be clear with him about what you want your relationship to be. If you want a relationship, that is." she added, just in case her daughter was about to object, "Well, Orlais wasn't expelled from Ferelden in a day. Just don't be surprised if your task might prove to be as arduous. Convincing your brother alone might be difficult enough." Leandra allowed herself a small smile when her daughter scoffed.

"Carver hardly cares about my affairs, with the new little regiment he has to play with. And my personal life is my own." Catching herself at a stern moment, Hawke looked a little sheepish as she continued. "It's not your custom not to voice any opinion in the matter. Don't you regret not being able to draw a graph comparing these suitors you seem so eager to acquaint me with?"

"What matter? I thought there was nothing to speak about, dear. We are just taking a leisurely stroll. In any case, I may yet get the chance to do that." Leandra continued, looking much relieved, or at least concealing her troubles far better now. In all honesty, she had thought it would take much longer to push her child to this admission. Besides, knowing her eldest, the dancing around in circles could continue for quite a while. "If not you, then with the twins. I should like to see some grandchildren eventually."

Hawke decided that this was the appropriate moment to trip over thin air and almost lose her balance. The next appropriate step was to steer her determined mother away from these dangerous words.

"Well, I can't be expected to do all the work here. Perhaps we could hit two birds with one stone and marry Carver off? It would gain us some sleep and save money on sharpening weapons."

It was a temporary solution, of course, because brother dearest would be on her case the moment he found out it had been her suggestion, but Hawke took it. After all, nothing was more terrifying than a mother determined to marry off her children, especially when that mother was hers. She had enough to contend with, trying slowly to adjust the slaves to a much better treatment than they had ever received before and slowly introducing the concept of rewards without punishments. Eventually, she hoped to call them all servants, not slaves, but Rufus seemed to have caught wind of her plan the moment she banned whipping and led the chorus of a constant recitation how much paying the staff would impact on household finances.

Again, a temporary solution, but at least the mood in the estate had improved consistently. Hawke even once received a bouquet of wildflowers from the children of the estate, once they managed to gather the courage. However, they still refused to come anywhere near her hands.

"I suppose we could, but I still think it would make a better impression on Empress Celene if we followed the traditional rules." Of course, having her eldest marry a slave – released or no – could put a dent into that plan, but maybe Illyria would meet someone else at the ball.

Her daughter only smiled. "Well, she's Orlesian, so that just might work."

**o.O.o**

The ball approached much faster than Hawke would have liked, which meant that she actually had to try on her new dress. Not that she really cared about her looks – she was perfectly content with a practical wardrobe – but she had to blend in and appear confident.

Meaning that she had to be as ostentations as possible. Not her preference, but when in Minrathous...

The chambermaids refused to allow her to dress herself for the ball, or trust Fenris to do that in their place. It would have been an annoyance at any other occasion, but Hawke honestly had no idea what to do with the monstrosity that had been sent to her or how to style her hair in any way more complicated than a twist. She had effectively horrified the staff into compliance through a demonstration of that simple fact.

The process took hours and really grated on Hawke's nerves. But, in the end, the effort impressed Bethany, who had invited herself along to watch the spectacle, so perhaps it wasn't completely a useless endeavor. Hawke had to grudgingly concede that she didn't look entirely like the village idiot in ridiculously impractical wide sleeves and a mass of unnecessary fabric, even though she was forced to question if she was meant to hold her dangerously low neckline in place by magic.

She first chose to demonstrate the finished chore to her family, in the privacy of her quarters.

"Is it your strategy to drive them all into distraction till they drool? Because unless that is your plan, I'd recommend you go change at once." Carver was doing his very best not to glance anywhere at his sister that was below her chin after that one slack-jawed stare. He would have obviously been much more receptive to such a gown had it been worn by a woman not related to him.

"And what else shall she wear? Shall you volunteer one of your shirts, brother dear?" Bethany suggested, still admiring the way they had managed to get the newly gained collection of gemstones interwoven with her sister's hair. She rather thought herself a marvelous example of a good sister, as she had no ambition for such lavishness and was quite content with her reign over the library. In fact, she likely had the better end of the bargain. "That would give the Magisters a wonderful impression of Fereldan respectability."

"It would certainly show them we fear absolutely nothing." Hawke laughed, trying to readjust the dress in a somewhat more modest fashion and failing spectacularly.

"Instead, they'll see that we dare anything." Bethany added, hiding a giggle when her sister looked slightly horrified with the end result of her failed battle.

"I'd show them daring." Carver muttered, though it was unclear if this meant he had a plan to go to a social occasion in his nightclothes. "Daring to look stick a blade in their guts if they don't mind their wandering eyes. But there's a limit to even my intimidation, you realize. I would likely have to slaughter the lot of them."

"They could kill you before you made your move." Hawke realized to some extent that her brother was about as comfortable with his not having the gift of magic while surrounded by those who did as she was with the chiffon and silk she was draped in that almost made her skin itch. "Do you know how dangerous even drawing a blade at one of them would be?"

"They'd have to twiddle their sparkle-fingers to make any difference. A couple of delicate mage flowers don't scare me." Carver scoffed, "I laugh in the face of danger."

"Then he hides until it goes away." Bethany added snidely, avoiding an elbow to her ribs with practiced deftness. Her brother managed to elbow a slave girl instead, to whom he then stuttered a quick apology, looking rather mortified for the rest of the evening. "How come you didn't get a say in what the dress was going to look like in the end again?"

"Darling, you look beautiful!" Leandra Hawke looked exceedingly happy, perhaps too readily ignoring Carver's concerns. Most of her focus was on the small ringlets framing her daughter's face and entwining with comparatively simple earrings. "Finally, you're getting what we should have had the moment we entered this country! Oh, if only your father could see you now." she added, attempting to embrace Hawke without pressing the fabric into an ungraceful shape.

"He would probably have a heart attack, though whether because of that… dress or because of you being so clean, that's debatable." Carver murmured, ducking under the brief glare that Bethany sent him.

Fortunately, Hawke wasn't listening that much to these small tirades anymore, having finally figured out how to properly walk in her slightly-heeled shoes. It seemed the entire household had come to see her off to this, their make-or-break event. Considering that their new Magister usually walked around clad almost like one of them, the revering silence likely didn't even have to be practiced. A lavish gown of all the colors of a lake in the mountains, jewels and gemstones, features skillfully highlighted with paint; this was what they had been expecting from the start.

Rufus was the only one who dared stand near the center of the entrance hall rather than peeking from the side, like everyone else. The compliments and assurances he quickly spewed forth seemed genuine, so Hawke let it go this time. Her mother was to be in charge in her absence, and that should be enough in combination with the triumvirate of siblings and the steward.

In accordance with his typical precognition, Fenris was waiting for them outside, as if someone was going to try and steal the carriage from their very courtyard. Aside from the cleanliness (read: some new clothing and repaired armor) that Carver had been so astonished about, the elf looked pretty much the same as ever, weapon included. It was this part of his duty that he took most seriously, and everything reflected just that.

In fact, if Hawke had hoped for any kind of reaction reminiscent of Carver (minus the guilt and disgust at having accidentally ogled his own sister), she was to be disappointed. If anything, it seemed that Fenris gritted his teeth somewhat upon seeing her like this.

"Have a good time! Try not to kill anyone!" It was odd that Bethany could say such a thing with utter breeziness, but such was life in Tevinter. Actually, it was sound advice.

Carver was still muttering under his breath with his eyes firmly shut while Leandra just appeared content to see her daughter dressed the part of a lady. Hawke herself just sort of wished the night were over already.

The fact that her companion was still looking as though he was restraining himself from slicing something into little pieces was hardly comforting in that respect. Bethany's warning might have applied a little more to him than to her, Hawke thought with a bit of disdain.

"Are you unwell?" she asked softly, trying not to show discomfort as the piercing glare was suddenly directed at her. It occurred to her that a hall filled with magisters might not be Fenris' idea of a pleasant evening. "I know I asked you to do this, but if it causes you such distress to come, I can have us turn around and-"

"No!" The forcefulness of that response was downright astonishing, but Fenris caught himself immediately. "No, Mistress. I can't protect you if I'm not at your side and you are- I want to protect you." he said, amending his response after a glance at her into a solemn promise. The fact that he paused to weigh his words was of some concern to Hawke; Fenris usually spoke his mind, even when deferring to her. "As things stand… my task might be more difficult tonight."

"You don't approve of my clothes?" Hawke wasn't offended, but she did feel a twinge of disappointment. "It's not quite to my taste, I admit, but I have nothing else."

"Your gown is fine." Fenris said brusquely, but then sensed that it perhaps wasn't the best of answers. He was learning to read Hawke's expressions, even if he wasn't completely proficient at it yet. "No… the clothing is adequate for the occasion. But you… you are a beautiful woman, Mistress. They insult you by trying to bring you to their level."

The contradiction of her countenance and Tevinter fashion made for a bizarre clash, even if the entire outfit was practically designed to flatter every single advantage nature had given her and hide the few flaws she possessed. And if Fenris had had doubts about whether or not he would find women desirable (despite the Mistress' stubborn intent to be disinterested in him, no matter what the cost), his distinctly dry throat and suddenly thoroughly uncomfortable armor were very clear answers on that account.

But it was offensive that they were trying to make her conform to the norms of Tevinter.

"I have every intention of insulting them right back to the best of my ability." It was still thoroughly her, though, even if a touch of shyness was hardly what Fenris had come to associate with her. "Thank you, however. I don't really feel all that comfortable in this." She tugged at her sleeve with a little frown, as if it had offended her somehow. "I'm more used to running and hiding in something less… puffy. So I'm twice as grateful you're here, you see. If we're attacked tonight, you can both defend me and keep me from tripping over my own feet. Or the dangers of bad plumbing."

She was nothing like any of them.

"It is my honor to protect you, Mistress, be it from attackers or an uneven floor." For this daring, he received a smile, not punishment, as was customary nowadays. For the first time, such an oath didn't seem like a hollow promise, enforced by fear and habit.

It was a dangerous line of thought, but she was his, in a way, his Mistress, and killing a palace filled with Magisters was starting to seem less and less like a foolish suicide. Now it was more like a suicide attempt he would leap at for her sake. Fenris did possess some self-preservation instinct, even if he didn't fear his eventual demise, but the way she was looking at him – without hatred, disdain or superiority, like he was a person, not a thing - was chipping away at this resolve, among other things.

It was that, perhaps, that also compelled him to voice the unnecessary addendum and glance away from her radiance before regaining resolve. "And it is also my…my pleasure to accompany you. But I worry for you, Mistress. You face things even I can't fully protect you from."

"We can correct that." she said, and drew something from her sleeve.

The strip of cloth was almost entirely too bright in color, and even to Fenris, whose knowledge of clothing extended to the fact that it was supposed to keep you warm, saw that it contrasted starkly with the remainder of her outfit. She must have kept it tied around her upper arm, because otherwise it would have been visible from at least a few angles.

It looked like a scarf, not particularly fine, especially next to the showcase of Tevinter fashion, but it had been made with love, obviously, and great care. There seemed to be a small inscription near one edge, but Fenris couldn't properly see it from the scrunched up fabric. Possibly a crest of some sort? Somewhat confused, Fenris looked up at his Mistress, who had an odd expression on her face. Fondness (likely for the cloth) and anxiety, combining.

"Mama made this for me a few years ago, when we were still in Ferelden." his Mistress said, momentarily lost in a pleasant memory.

Fenris noticed the switch – the familiar way in which she referred to her mother – and felt something akin to contentment himself. Diminutives and pet names weren't spoken outside the Hawke family circle, not often. It felt a bit like belonging, if that wasn't such an immense presumption on his part.

"We were never poor, but we moved around a lot, so we never had time to buy nice things for a house. So we spent what money we could spare on things we could move quickly if discovered. I got this when I became of age - it'll be four years soon." She held the scarf as if it were decked with gemstones. Fenris had an idea where she might be going with this, but that would be too much. He couldn't presume- "I'd like you to have it now."


	12. Eleven

Long delays nowadays aren't caused by writer's block – moving flats, countries and starting the horror of another academic year in a foreign language is the mix that is actually the culprit. In any case, more LJ stuff, with occasional expansions.

**o.O.o**

**Eleven**

**o.O.o**

Fenris could see that the cloth had more significance to her than a few words could encompass; it was something truly hers, not an impromptu heirloom from Danarius or a gift from a sycophant seeking to win her favor. He could understand that this wasn't something her family could receive back, but he had the distinct impression that she wasn't parting with it lightly.

To offer it to him…

"I can't accept this, Mistress."

He'd never received a gift before, not that he could remember. Not something that he didn't have to pay for tenfold, and the price of this trinket would be greater than he could ever hope to return. He had only just begun to trust in his Mistress being different from all others he had presumptuously considered her kind. Facing possible retribution for the destruction of something so precious was more than he could handle.

"An heirloom such as this belongs to your family, I couldn't-" He cut himself off, because his Mistress had begun to laugh.

It occurred to Fenris that this was the first time this evening that he was seeing her happy – possibly the first time he was seeing her without a care in the world.

"It's a scarf that's barely seen four winters, Fenris. I'm sure I could walk into any market in the city and find dozens more expensive and ancient ones. It's a keepsake, if anything. It was given to me by someone I care about and now I'm passing it on." She didn't say the words that were echoing in his head, but it was more than good enough. "Besides, I do have a reason for doing this other than wanting to give my things away. I assume by things you can't defend me against you mean words and intrigue. Could you hold out your arm for me? Whichever you feel more comfortable with."

It was a command or a request, one of those, and things had come to the point that the two had become interchangeable in Fenris' mind in the past weeks.

"I don't understand how this helps either of us, Mistress. As your slave, I cannot address a magister that speaks out of turn to you without placing you at risk of shame, at best."

His Mistress didn't really seem to be listening that much, or not overly concerned, at least, focusing on tying the thin fabric securely around his armored wrist. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, even if she barely touched him, something he had not come to expect from anyone who entered his personal space. Perhaps it was due to the habit of having that space invaded often that the distance somehow seemed too great, especially when his Mistress was leaning forward a little and the way her arms were pressing against-

The hard-etched ring was still around her finger, despite not fully matching the rest of her of her jewelry. It, too, had to have some sentimental value to her, though such gifts usually came from admirers. Given how austere Fereldan taste seemed to be in comparison with Minrathous, it wasn't an entirely implausible idea, but certainly a sobering one. Of course his Mistress had someone she cared for. Perhaps that was why she still spoke so fondly of her homeland. And though her happiness was in every way a pleasing sight, it wasn't a contagious emotion in this case.

The utter presumption – unwillingly, he remembered part of Hadriana's rambling as she had been escorted from the premises of the estate – that a slave should even imagine that someone of her standing would view him with anything close resembling favor.

In the meantime, the knot was finally securely fastened and his Mistress was pleased. Not that it wasn't a touching gesture, but Fenris still didn't understand the purpose.

"We don't have a crest yet, but if I remember correctly, ladies of court can give things like this to knights as favors. Since you're my protector," Here, her mouth twitched. "We can waive the other point. You likely still can't speak for me, but this is an argument they won't be able to ignore."

There seemed to be warmth coming from the fabric, or perhaps he was just suddenly very conscious of the very blood pouring through his veins, to the point that he actually forgot about getting out of the carriage first and helping her find her footing.

Fortunately, Hawke crawled out on her own without missing a beat.

If the gifts sent to her had been lavish, it couldn't be called anything great in comparison with the spectacle that awaited Hawke when she entered the palace of her hosts that night. She had the opportunity to see how a fully slave-run household functioned when their master wasn't too busy rotting in a grave.

Her arrival was greeted with the most pomp, seeing as this was theoretically a feast in her honor. Hawke was a quick observer and managed to spot several faces she recognized in the crowd already, even if she couldn't place names to all of them. She thought she spotted Hadriana somewhere in the crowds and did her best to pretend she hadn't. That was a confrontation for another time, even if her mind was pretty much made up regarding this matter already.

She was saved from this situation by no less than the sudden appearance of her host, who had apparently even abandoned his guests to welcome her to his utterly non-humble abode.

"Aurelia! My, but you look ravishing tonight!"

In Hawke's experience, men usually smiled this widely when they wanted money or hoped to do a little ravishing themselves.

The best way to deal with such things was a glare and a crackle of magic. Of course, this was the exception that proved the rule. Hawke had never been a noble, but her mother had taught her enough about courtly matters that she knew when to curtsey properly.

"Magister Phineas. I'm honored that you'd go to this expense for my sake."

In contrast to his behavior towards Hadriana after Hawke's duel with Danarius, the magister didn't appear in any way stern now, though the fire in his grey eyes was distinctly cold.

"Nonsense, my dear. If not I, then there would be others lining up for the privilege of officially welcoming you to this city. It was simply fortune that allowed me the foresight to be first to do so."

An arm draped in heavy velvet was offered to her and Hawke didn't really see a way that would allow her to back out of accepting it. She couldn't even spare a glance at Fenris without appearing inattentive to her host, thus she continued acting the proper guest.

Hawke was blessed with a good memory for faces, even if names sometimes escaped her, but she had to start somewhere. In that case, she could have done worse than start with this man, who was apparently sometimes called the Red Scorpion in reference to both his reddish hair and the way he could unexpectedly remove a persona non grata with surprising speed. That he had already expressed some awareness of her, if not interest in her back during her duel was hardly comforting.

In addition, she wasn't used to looking up when talking to people. Hawke was hardly a short woman, but Phineas towered her by at least a head, which she found a bit disconcerting.

"Master Bastien seems to have outdone himself, as he promised." Whether that was a comment on her dress her or her cleavage, Hawke honestly couldn't tell. Given the amount of gaping but appreciative and gaping but green with envy stares directed Hawke's way every step of the way, she could guess that the tailor had been given great incentive to do so. "Even in Minrathous, it's difficult to find a craftsman who actually gives you what you paid for. I'm told your steward is relatively efficient in these matters, but you would do well to secure a good supplier for the needs of our craft. You might have to do that personally; slaves and magic don't really mesh well."

"I'll take your word for it." That seemed to be enough of an answer, and the conversation steered toward the politics of magic.

Hawke idly wondered if she really felt a pair of eyes staring intently at the back of her head, or if the very quiet growl of a barely-awoken dragon behind them was just her imagination. In any case, the palace was too loud for anyone but her to take any notice, and that was partly because she believed she already knew her protection for tonight quite well.

Protection. She had to stifle a giggle whenever she thought of him that way – one of glee at her own silliness. Fenris had looked so bewildered when she had presented him with the scarf, probably thinking it some Fereldan oddity or perversion. When she had finished tying it in place, though, he had regarded it with something close to awe (mama would have been proud to see her fine work appreciated so), but that was only after he had finished giving her the most intense stare she ever remembered being the target of.

Naturally, as a trained bodyguard, the elf possessed thorough expertise at tracking threats and focusing his attention on a single thing... but that look had encompassed the true nature of a predator, a sheer _want_ that possessed no true limits, even though he most likely didn't know what it was he actually wanted from her. Hawke's libido had certainly had its ideas. It had produced a thorough list of reasons why these ideas should be pursued, even, but somehow, her heart had been too loud for her to truly appreciate it.

A month. She had known him for a month now, which certainly wasn't enough to warrant such things – least of all from her, on whom so many things depended for her family. Up till then, she could easily have said that her sentiments for Fenris extended to intense pity and hope to make something good out of his future. Somehow, the part of her mind that spoke in her mother's voice was beginning to speak up with this new evidence to the contrary at hand.

Right now, it was a distraction she distinctly couldn't afford, among these powerful people who could still very well destroy her life and all that she had worked towards.

The fact that her host apparently intended to introduce her to everyone of not around was a pleasant surprise. She would have been somewhat nervous if left standing entirely apart from this peculiar crowd. That he almost never let her out of hand's reach was less amusing.

"-and your gown, why, Aurelia, it must have taken a dozen slaves to even spin the silks in time! A wonder you managed to have it done so well!"

Hawke was getting the hang of reacting to her new name – it wasn't so dissimilar to her own, after all – but switching into the kind of Tevinter these people spoke was harder after some time spent behind her walls. The Tevinter the magisters spoke was the language of money, superiority and insatiable pride.

"It was a gift that I value deeply. I would have hardly been prepared for an occasion as special as this if not for the kindness bestowed upon me."

"Ah, yes, Phineas does like to flaunt his connections whenever he can." Hawke had come to file the magisters away based on their names and one most obvious personality trait. Currently Marcella (wishes her clothes were better but isn't of high enough standing to get them) was wrinkling her pert little nose in a way that made Hawke wish she could punch the middle-aged woman. "Excessive, I say, but it worked out very well for you."

"Yes, with the whole city buzzing in excitement about you, he likely hopes to steal you away from us quickly." Emerentius (excessive attention given to his hairstyle and the wine being poured everywhere) added, eying her like one would a shiny statuette. Hawke was forced to wonder if this was one of those guests that constantly stole things from their hosts. "Such a shame, that."

"It's only my first social outing. Far be it from me to disrespect out host." It wasn't a complete lie, but Hawke needed to get this remark out of the way to stop the speculations she could see forming on their faces. "I'm very grateful for his hospitality."

"Oh-ho, you're not a woman easily won over, fair lady! We'll all have to work for your favor here, otherwise we, too, might end up trampled under your delectable heels!"

Hawke did her best to convey exactly what she thought of Biaggio (fondness for unfunny jokes, possible foot fetishist) in a single brief glare. "My wish is to live in peace, along with my family. I hope to count you all among my friends and neighbors." _And remove those who would presume to be my enemies_, she restrained herself from adding.

It was a tiresome dance, joining with the laughs and smiles of potential enemies and trying not to appear too revolted in the process. Especially since everyone was keen and intent on making an impression, or at least meeting her. Despite her effort to make it known (at least to Fenris himself) that he wasn't there merely in the capacity of a slave, the elf kept to the side and stayed mostly behind her, keeping a respectable if small distance between himself and the group of magisters.

Moreover, this was clearly a heavily social occasion, emphasis on the talking part of being social, so Hawke imagined that, even if he felt he could speak up against a magister there, Fenris would likely choose not to. That he talked to her as much as he did was the result of their unusual relationship. Still, Hawke kept notice of where her bodyguard was and remained grateful for the proximity, if only so that she could keep an eye on him.

"And I see you've done well for yourself in every aspect, Aurelia." They noticed – damn them, damn everything – and a lithe woman with stone-grey eyes was already circling the elf, as if he were a mannequin with a dress she hoped to buy. The elf was motionless, watching the magister carefully, but Hawke could see that he wouldn't hesitate to crush the cobra's head if she turned her attention to Hawke herself in such a manner. "My, my, Danarius really was hiding his most interesting possessions carefully, hmm? I had heard about some of his experiments, but I never imagined…"

She didn't exactly trail the markings on Fenris' upper arm with her hand, but she looked tempted to do so, and that wouldn't end well for anyone involved. "I'll thank you not to harass my companion," Name, name, name! Faces, those come to her easily, but names she has to repeat to remember. "Ursula. I can hardly guarantee that your head will remain attached to your shoulders if you do so."

The Magister's lips curled into a slightly repulsed sneer, but she withdrew her wandering hand. Hawke could now see that Fenris did indeed lose a little tension after that timely intervention, which counted as silent thanks.

"A trained attack dog, then? You barely have need of one, my dear." Marcella the Middle Aged was already being too friendly, her little watery eyes surveying Fenris somewhat too eagerly. "Wouldn't you be willing to part with him for a wonderfully obscene price?"

"Not for all the coin you possess, Magister." Hawke countered, but this triggered a wave of unexpected laughter from all but the two of them.

"I should hardly think it would be enough, anyway!"

"A shrewd bargain, for certain."

"'Tis pointless to haggle for a sovereign with a copper."

If nothing else, they seemed to find her amusing, which was momentarily good enough. Still, Hawke felt she almost saw a familiar and unwelcome mop of brown hair move towards her through the crowd and prepared to make some sort of excuse to go mingle further away.

She was saved the need to excuse herself and run by the sudden return of her host, for whom the crowds parted like water, a skill Hawke thoroughly envied. Fortunately, stealth wasn't an option in this mass of chattering mages, especially for one who was dressed in colors of autumn while spring reigned all around them.

"My friends, would you allow me to steal our most honored guest for a moment?" The form of address was spoken with such natural ease that Hawke wondered if she alone realized how formulaic it was, how empty. "The minstrels will soon begin practicing their craft and I would like to request the honor of the lady's first dance."

Hawke took good note of the fact that she wasn't the one being asked first, only addressed after the others waved this off like a private little joke. She had received many gifts over the past weeks, large and small, but none greater than this man had sent her. Her mother's voice echoed in her head about the warning signs of courtship. This had progressed beyond the first stage already.

However, she was not yet in the red zone, even if accepting this dance would do nothing to improve that. Accepting would signal that she was going to allow this to continue; refusing would mean angered whispers and a broken façade of strained amiability.

"Aurelia, if you'd do me the honor?"

There were both gleeful and jealous stares around, to a similar degree. What was safe to say was that she was being carefully scrutinized and either decision would have an impact on her position here. Well, she had said that she intended to thank Phineas somehow. A dance was a small thing, and, hopefully, she could leave it at that.

"The honor is all yours, my friend." Hawke said, extending her hand.

The initial words would have been cutting if unaccompanied with a polite if tight smile, but it was the last two that triggered an interesting reaction in the man. His eyes traced every inch of her expression for any potential layers of meaning and, once finished within the span of seconds, the grip on her hand became a more secure if not uncomfortable manacle the more pleased his smile became.

Hawke managed to spare a quick glance at Fenris, hoping that he understood that this was hardly her first choice, and, if possible, didn't take anyone's head off while she wasn't there to chase the vultures off with s glance.

The veritable army of minstrels was indeed about ready to start practicing their craft; in fact, it became increasingly obvious to Hawke that they had only been waiting for the master of the house to select a partner for the initial dance. She was starting to feel a little like a trapped rat, or a mabari being showcased to potential buyers. The only difference was that the highest bidder already held her hand in place, and to run away now would not suit her purpose at all.

Only with the masses standing to the side did she realize just how grand and wonderfully decorated the main festival hall was, with lampions and ornaments all around, all in warm yellowish gold and all shades of blue. It was indeed a parade for her, and perhaps more than that; an attempt to showcase that there were others in Tevinter much more powerful than her, which she knew quite well. An effort to impress her with that wealth and power and win her over as an ally. Or the picture of intimidation, which was meant to fill her with dread at the knowledge that, without the friendship of someone so close to the top of the pyramid of power, her ascent might prove short-lived indeed.

Though she had known nothing about Tevinter customs upon arriving in the country, her mother had once indeed been a nobleman's daughter. Therefore, Leandra had been educated in all the arts a young lady of repute might wish to employ, including dances, the foreign ones as well. And, while she had probably intended to make it a hobby and joy for her children (or her daughters, at least; Carver took to even the simplest waltz about as well as an ogre in a pottery shop might). To see it as a tool of politics would have likely brought back sad memories to her.

Hawke was fortunate enough not to have two left feet and be able to notice quickly what she was supposed to be dancing – the fact that this was one of the few occasions when she wasn't required to lead helped. It was also one of the occasions when she couldn't afford to be offended by the fact that a man relatively unknown to her was placing his hand on her back. To the magister's credit, his hand didn't snake lower than proper, but there was absolutely no guarantee that it would remain that way.

Given the way he was watching her for any semblance of reaction… Hawke didn't really know what to think, but the music was starting immediately after an obviously pre-agreed signal and she had to focus her learning ability on the fact dancing in heels was a little different than in comfortable Fereldan boots.

Fortunately for Fenris, the majority of the magisters seemed to be more interested in watching his Mistress and the other magister than bothering with him for the moment, giving him the opportunity to slink away to a better vantage point, where he wouldn't be spotted too much. His Mistress had begun dancing with the human, who either had some semblance of his immense fortune or intended to put her into the spotlight to force her hand in some way.

He had already succeeded once, if the look of a deer that had just been struck by an arrow his Mistress had given him was any indication. But the few seconds before that, when he heard only her pleasant response, something aside from Fenris' teeth clenched painfully, something that had been numb for too long.

The dancing continued in an irritatingly pleasant fashion, but after a few moments, other couples saw it fit to intrude on the dancefloor and thus took away some of the awkwardness of the situation. Hawke still counted the moments for it to be over, if only so that she could fetch herself a glass of wine. She didn't drink often, but her nerves required some help at this point.

"Don't focus so much on the steps, Aurelia." Phineas was pleasant enough up close, even if Hawke felt like she was being studied by a bird of prey. Which could have made them birds of a feather, she thought idly, almost lightening up a bit at the peculiar pun. "You're stiffer than a board."

"I wouldn't want to be the one who quite literally steps on your toes at your celebration."

"This celebration is yours, as is the dance. Not that your concern is unnoticed or unappreciated." A slight movement of auburn hair, signifying a head-tilt. Hawke imagined this was what a conserved ingredient in a jar might feel when being selected by a Tranquil, which was unnerving more than blush-inducing. "I wonder if anything about you could be either of those things."

Backpedal, backpedal, Hawke's courtship alarm was screaming. With a mother such as hers, it was a well-honed one.

"They don't always have to go together. But while I enjoy this spectacle on its own terms, I prefer a life away from the spotlight."

"That won't be very possible for you in the near future, I'm afraid." The dance was now a little slower, a little more relaxed, and the tall Magister's hands still placed on neutral areas of her body. It was acceptable, if spiraling into… something. "Gossip is one of the many things Minrathous indulges in and you've become a fascinating topic for discussion."

"Anything you've heard is mere slander that I wholeheartedly deny." Hawke proclaimed immediately, remembering Fenris' expression when she last used playful sarcasm in such a manner. It helped conjure up the breezy smile on her face considerably.

Phineas took the bait, chuckling darkly as he managed to twirl her in a much more graceful way than Hawke would have managed on her own. "No doubt. That adds yet a further intriguing level to the list of reasons why you're unlikely to be treated like royalty to your face."

"And talked about like the lowest wench behind my back, I assume." Which was an inevitability when one was a regional celebrity, of course. "I can live with that."

"You hardly sound like a foreigner to me." Phineas mused, obviously considering it the highest of compliments. Hawke decided to take it as such, even if it could have just as easily been an insult. "I have high hopes for you, Aurelia, high hopes indeed."

"Your support is most welcome, as is your friendship."

She really didn't know when a thoroughly dazzling smile had started triggering mild concern in her mind, but there it was. "I was hoping you'd say something like that."


	13. Twelve

Eh… heh heh…. Okay, the previous post might have been a bit misleading. I was flooded with work and studies, which completely took over my time… the chapter is here now, at least.

This is where the rewrite starts, actually – the scene at the end turned out different in the LJ version, but I want to develop the relationship better here. The magister characters, the household and the Hawke family will also receive their development in due course.

**o.O.o**

**Twelve**

**o.O.o**

The crowd had begun to move once more, and with the other couples gliding on the dancefloor, it was becoming a little more difficult to follow his Mistress' steps. Still, Fenris wasn't entirely certain if his heart was in it; whenever he managed to once more locate her among the Magisters, with her partner holding her as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he had the urge to either get a drink of something very strong or break the bottle over someone's head. Possibly both, order optional.

The dancing seemed to be a very important social ritual, considering that there were indeed men – and some women, unsurprisingly – lining up to compete for the privilege of holding his Mistress' hand for a few short moments. A pearl tossed to a herd of swine, as far as he was concerned. And they were only getting the watered down version of her, without her kind eyes and soft voice.

Still far too much for them.

Whenever his Mistress appeared to want to move away, she was accosted by yet more admirers asking for her favor. But that had already been given, a tiny voice in his mind was repeating joyously, even if this evening was otherwise a mix of boredom and pure misery. The red band around his forearm felt warm somehow, armor or no, and Fenris had managed to work out the inscription carefully stitched on the cloth. Not that he could read it, which made him wonder if it was a dedication or a good-luck charm – or at least as much of one as a person with no magic could hope to give a powerful magister.

The Hawke family was peculiar, and, for the first time, Fenris wondered what had happened to his Mistress's father. As far as he knew, the man's name was never mentioned in the household and the male part of the twins was feeling decidedly under pressure as the single man among three women. That his sisters were both regarded as higher in standing purely by their inherent magic was the bonus cherry on top of the cake of despair.

Maker, he was almost poetizing and losing sight of his duties. This didn't bode well for his focus.

It would have been an insult to his meager pride, for example, not to notice that his Mistress' host was always nearby to reel her back into his own arms, even if she didn't seem entirely keen on the idea. Deciding that he hated the man and would crush his heart if he as much as looked at his Mistress wrong was a simple thing.

"Well, look at that." An annoyingly familiar voice drawled from nearby. "I might actually start considering a good thing that Danarius bit the dust at her hand. Especially if it gets her into Phineas' bed."

Fenris could feel his shoulders clenching as if commanded to do so. His Mistress might have succeeded in avoiding this worthless bitch, but Hadriana had a way of navigating the shadows to slither out of them at the most inopportune moment. That she had chosen to approach a mere slave signified nothing good, even though it was the dancing couples she was observing.

Such a gleeful yet dispassionate observation, rather like a pimp bragging about the success of one of his women. Many deals among magisters were sealed through sex – there could be no real talk of intimacy – but to have someone as lowly as Hadriana speak of his Mistress this way was pushing all of the wrong buttons.

Besides, the bitch had no formal standing in the Tevinter hierarchy now; she was between apprenticeships, not accepted on either side and thus not truly part of the magocracy. In fact, for all her arcane power, the only difference between the two of them now was that Hadriana could choose the master she hoped to serve.

"Mind your words, Hadriana. She is my Mistress and a Magister of the Imperium, neither of which applies to you."

A gross simplification of all the differences between the two humans, who had only race and gender in common. Both were debatable, of course. But these were terms the vindictive harlot would understand, especially if he highlighted them with a little daring.

"That's Magister Hadriana to you, slave!" the woman barked, but the astonishment coloring her shriek was entirely too satisfying. Danarius had spoiled her for being his most loyal sycophant and she thought herself a magister already, even if she still had years to go to reach that title fully. "And I'll respect her well enough when I'm formally her apprentice."

There was a strange undertone to that and Fenris really didn't want to explore. Even if exploring such a scenario further would likely result in somewhat more pleasing imaginings of the various ways the bitch would be sentenced to death.

"You'll learn the meaning of that word properly when we're reacquainted. Has the wolf cub missed me?" Hadriana cooed, eyes glittering with glee at her impending vengeance. "You won't have to wait long."

In a place as filled with people as this, the best defense was ignoring the attacker; his Mistress was now trying to disentangle herself from yet another group of Magisters, looking tired, despite the earliness of the evening for those used to such occasions. Hopefully, this already too long torture wouldn't take too long. In fact, if Fenris was right, she was trying to make excuses to leave early but her host kept trying to apprehend her.

"Ah, they do so make a _nice_ couple, don't they?" The buzzing fly was still there, her sneer toothier than ever. The sad truth was that, speaking purely from a balancing point of view, she wasn't entirely off the mark. "An advantage to an already beneficial arrangement."

"You presume much."

That response didn't go over well with Hadriana; it was uncustomary for her to let such a thing slide. But her face had gone from the flashes of brief rage to an expression that would have been flattering on a hyena, perhaps. Her darkened lips had twisted into hysterical satisfaction that she could barely suppress, as if she had eaten all the wisdom of the world with a teaspoon and discovered that the meaning of life involved marmalade.

And found it grand, apparently.

"Don't tell me you didn't see this coming, slave." she jeered, "Did you think her barbaric perversity would allow even her to stoop so low as to take up with a filthy thing like you?"

This was revenge for being tossed out of the estate previously, Fenris knew. She couldn't touch him here, but she could make it hurt nonetheless; at least she believed so. The key was not reacting in any way.

Besides, his feelings towards his Mistress – however confused they may be – were nowhere near as vulgar as Hadriana implied. His Mistress showed him frightening kindness, which, aside from confusing him greatly, was just that; kindness. Perhaps pity for what she considered uncustomary and uncultured in her own little world.

That which was to be pitied was not to be lusted over. Nobility – figurative and titled – didn't seem to work like that in her reality.

So there was nothing to take offense to in her place.

Unfortunately, Hadriana thought the splinter she was wielding amounted to a sword. Not that she could wield it; in her hands, everything was a knife to be stabbed in the back and twisted at leisure, until the victim crumpled to the ground in pain.

"The most you could hope for is that she uses you to remind herself of her good fortune when she isn't getting fucked raw by an actu-"

The knife hit.

Somehow, Fenris's fingers were suddenly curled around a still-intact throat that seemed to now have a heart inside it as well, if the rapid pumping of blood under his touch was any indication. This, too, could be twisted.

"You have grievously and repeatedly insulted my Mistress. I suggest you apologize."

A gentle application of pressure could do wonders when armored gloves were added to the mix.

Hadriana's eyes were so wide she might have actually forgotten her own magic. Or, perhaps, she saw the potential of the situation – or she would, if she didn't, at least for a fleeting moment, realize that she had very good cause to fear for her life.

"Unhand me, slave!" She could barely speak, her hands flailing pathetically, the hiss in her voice wavering with every shallow breath she stole. "How dare you! I'll see your miserable hide whipped!"

Fenris actually wondered if anyone would truly care if he took the final twist. The move could be justified as defending his Mistress; which meant punishment, certainly, but of the lighthearted variety. And, considering that the punishment would be left up to the Magister he belonged to, Fenris honestly thought it might be worth it. Hadriana was in a perilous position, outside of the true hierarchy of Tevinter while the spot of her official mentor was empty.

And, from a long term perspective, it would be doing his Mistress a great favor.

"Hadriana, why are you harassing my bodyguard?"

It would have been better had she not taken notice of the proceedings and disentangled herself from her fellows to come take control of the situation. But perhaps the little scene had gotten more noticeable than he had anticipated.

The false smiles were completely away from her face; disapproval certainly suited her countenance more. She didn't appear pleased with either of them; Fenris briefly hesitated, which was enough for Hadriana to draw breath. Not even a dress could make his Mistress look less intimidating, though it certainly was a good attempt.

Seeing what she perceived as her rescuer present, Hadriana remembered she had magic at her disposal and freed herself through one of the many dirty tricks Danarius had taught her. It would have been just a spark of electricity otherwise, but she could direct it in a way that it went straight into the lyrium in his skin and spread out like a web through his body.

Brief, but unfortunately effective. The viper slipped from his grip; a glance from his Mistress would have been enough to have him let another, less worthless opponent go.

"Milady!" Hadriana almost threw herself to the floor in eagerness, which was probably why she missed the quick glance the Magister spared him upon hearing his low hiss of pain. "This beast assaulted me out of nowhere! I plead for the right to discipline it appropriately!"

The hall had grown strangely silent, as if someone had chosen to muff the music into a half-whisper. The elf's head was lowered in deference to his Mistress, but it allowed him to become once more aware of the presence of the crowds around them. There was magic enough in that hall to destroy the entire city.

Those wielding it were watching the proceedings carefully.

"Denied." Usually, his Mistress was much more eloquent than that. She swept past Hadriana without patience; Fenris could feel her eyes quickly scan him for visible injury. "Has she harmed you in any way?" she asked for good measure.

"No, Mistress."

"Then why did you see fit to do such a thing?" Direct and unemotional gained a frightening dimension when coming from her. Fenris couldn't have met her eyes any more than if she had been brandishing a whip.

"She was speaking of you without regard or respect to your station, Mistress. It's my duty to protect you in any capacity."

There was a deep chuckle from somewhere in the vicinity, and some of the tension in the air evaporated when their host found amusement in this. "Well, I see you have a well-trained one, Aurelia. How quaint, to have a slave defend your honor. Why haven't I introduced such a rule in my household yet?"

"Thank you, Phineas." His Mistress hadn't even looked away when voicing what was for all intents and purposes a dismissal. "Are you in pain? What was that what she did just now?"

"The markings… they react to magic." This time, it couldn't be helped, meeting her unblinking stare. Cold, clinical assessment was something he was used to; could compartmentalize in his mind. "She twisted her energy in a way that can bring forth pain."

"It's hardly a permanently damaging act!" Hadriana wailed, sensing that the situation was turning against her somehow. "Milady, if you won't allow me, then-"

"No, I won't allow you." Words were not wasted on the unworthy; Hadriana didn't have to pretend to cower. "Not now, not ever again. You overstep the boundaries of your position, have no regard for mine and presume to tell me what I should do. I don't know what you did for Danarius to gain such leniency, but I have no use for an apprentice who believes herself mighty enough to get away with no respect for her betters." Though the Magister wasn't much taller than Hadriana, she seemed to be made of much harder and unyielding material than the other woman. "Your petition for apprenticeship is hereby officially rejected."

It was especially visible when the other woman swayed under the wind of unhidden mutterings and whispers that swirled around them.

"But Magister-!"

"And if you ever again enter my estate without prior invitation rest assured that you'll receive a less than charitable welcome. Have I made myself _clear_?" Any objection would be met with a kindly explanation and a fireball to the face.

The unnatural stillness in the room didn't fade; with each word his Mistress spoke, the whispers quieted down even more. For all anyone could tell, the others might have been a forest of statues; Fenris could feel even the slightest movement of air caused by her golden locks whipping into another direction.

"I apologize for disrupting the banquet in such a manner, Phineas." she said, not quite able to erase the steel from her voice. "I prefer not to darken celebrations with politics, but I can hardly let a challenge to my authority such as that stand."

"Entirely understandable. You are welcome to utilize my library for your purposes; a broken off apprenticeship is hardly a rare case, but there are certain rules to be followed, both in protocol and the legal sphere."

"I thank you for your offer, but my own resources should suffice for this purpose. I merely wish my standing regarding this woman be known, so that there are witnesses present to my decision. And, of course, if someone wishes to take on an apprentice who fails to understand the meaning of that word, they are more than welcome to her."

Unsurprisingly, none of the Magisters stepped forth to intervene on Hadriana's behalf, partly because of Illyria, partly because it was clear whose side the most powerful person in the room was taking. Public humiliation such as this would mean ruin for the witch, but Fenris couldn't really take proper satisfaction in it; his Mistress hadn't yet said anything about what she thought about his little stunt.

"If you'd be gracious enough to forgive me once more, I believe I shall retire for the night. My appetite for celebration has been ruined."

The swirl of attempted persuasion to make her stay and thin resistance sort of just went over Fenris' head. In the end, they managed to convince her to stay for almost another hour – keeping time was difficult, so the elf proceeded to count the various conversations until they were freed from the distinct displeasure of the current company. He paid little attention to what was being said, choosing instead to simply stay at his Mistress's side, a silent reminder of what would happen to anyone who dared presume she was soft in any way.

At last, their host insisted on personally escorting his Mistress to her carriage and offering an empty apology for the events of the night. She had been responding to the small talk with a word or two at a time, even if she attempted to be somewhat more pleasant when dealing with someone favorably disposed towards her.

Afterwards, she was a silent presence in the carriage, spending most of the ride scowling out of the carriage window – that is, once she was out of earshot of the estate and could wipe away the remains of her already shaky pleasantness. It was quite impossible to tell what she thought about the entire fiasco.

Her estate was quiet in the night; it wasn't yet even half past two and given the length of typical Tevinter parties, the staff wasn't expecting her back for another few hours. Her family was probably asleep, though, so she decided not to wake any of the staff and slip into her quarters with minimal fuss. Only when the doors closed did she acknowledge Fenris' presence, her expression still irritated.

"Show me where she hurt you."

The damage left by Hadriana wasn't permanent – the only truth the bitch had ever spoken, most likely. "I am intact, Mis-"

"I'll ask you not to lie to me again, Fenris." His Mistress's voice remained doubtful, even if it wasn't enraged anymore. "You neglected to mention her little trick before tonight and I left her in your hands previously, without supervision. She wouldn't just leave in peace like that if this is her customary reaction to being dismissed. Show me."

A Magister never inquired about another's health, certainly not in a protective fashion; it hadn't even occurred to Fenris that she might ask such a thing, let alone that she'd be interested in hearing such a thing. He had been too satisfied by the sight of Hadriana being put into her place to mind the customary jolt of pain an irritated mage liked to inflict upon others.

As he hardly ever slept without his armor, he hadn't even inspected his injury and taking the prized red scarf off his wrist seemed too high a price to pay for mild discomfort. Yet his Mistress' eyes allowed no objections and so, he presented the purplish welts on his uncovered forearm dutifully enough. Burns of magic, sloppily closed, but slightly healed.

Before Fenris could react – which was quite a feat of speed – his Mistress had pulled him to sit down on the nearest divan and started examining the damage with what might have been a hint of a gasp.

"You let this lie for a day! Do you have any idea-?" Exhaling, his Mistress almost traced his skin, keeping her hand half an inch above it. Her touch on his fingers alone was distracting enough, to say nothing of her proximity. "Did you have someone look at it?"

"No, Mistress." Monosyllabic answers rarely sat well with her, at least when she was on the receiving end of them. Sure enough, she bit her lip thoughtfully.

"It looks like some magic has been tried on it. But unless Bethany… wait, I wrapped my scarf around here, didn't I?" She pinpointed with precision the very spot where the burns seemed lightest. "Minor healing enchantment. I had forgotten." This time, she finally looked up to speak to him, not at him. "Father knew well I could never avoid small cuts and bruises, so he placed it on the scarf to make sure it was on an object I wouldn't part with easily. That does make this a little bit worse, though."

"Why would it?"

"Because I'll have to undo the healing to reseal the wound… and there aren't gentle ways to do this." she said after a moment, and, finally, her fingers gently traced part of the markings where Fenris' skin wasn't burned anymore. Astonishingly, the sensation wasn't painful – he had braced for that when her intention became apparent – but rather like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. "I'll have to do some more research on the topic. And you can help me. You keep saying you're here to assist me in any capacity." She didn't use the word serve. "I won't say no to another pair of hands at going through books."

"Mistress-"

"Illyria." she interrupted abruptly, "My name is Illyria, as it's written there. Or Hawke, if you prefer."

That was a different name than the one the Magisters had for her. Again, she was giving him something of hers.

"Mistress," That word hurt her in some way Fenris couldn't really grasp. "Unless your array of spells includes one that can impart knowledge instantly, I will be of no use to you. Slaves aren't permitted to read. I never learned." he added when his Mistress remained silent.

She looked stricken for a moment, remembering the sad state of things in a place where hierarchy was the only thing that mattered. Then, her resolution returned and she shrugged off her apparent disappointment.

"I promised changes when I came here." she shrugged, "We might as well start with this."

And then, the energies she wielded flared into life.

The light around her hands was gentle, even timid, like nothing Fenris was used to. It stung, of course, as it was applied to his wounds, especially with the lyrium coursing through him. But his Mistress was taking such care at minimizing any kind of trauma, reacting to every twitch of his muscles with almost surgical precision.

Before, all he had ever known was the hurt magic could bring; the pain. She had told him the truth; to heal, she had to break the previous healing. But she didn't cause any injury that was unnecessary and moved to correct the wound as soon as possible.

Perhaps it was just his Mistress who could tame even the beast within her, make it heel obediently and obey her every whim. Maker knew she was succeeding with him.

It took a while, but the pain subsided, as were the most obvious signs of his injury. But Fenris barely felt it anyway, with all his attention focused on the caster. He still couldn't comprehend this unique, wonderful creature, but whatever had prompted the Maker to send her his way deserved veneration as the most amazing of mistakes. Fenris didn't remember if he had ever felt affection for anyone. Resentment and hatred were the most common guests in his mind, having long since taken up permanent residence there. He was uncertain of practically everything he had considered natural, but damned well beyond caring.

He could have spent the rest of his life happily on that divan, but the magic had done its job and his Mistress was inspecting it with deft fingers, giving those thoughts new dimension.

"I think it should be all right." she was saying, still frowning in that peculiar fashion of hers; "Next time, you have to tell me about this kind of thing. Or, if I'm not nearby, get Bethany to heal it for you; she's much better at these spells." Her hands had begun their retreat, which was strangely regrettable. "You can't just leave it like this!"

She was still mad, concerned and thoroughly correct – it couldn't be left just like this. The trajectory of her withdrawing hands was stopped in a single swift move and the elf was once again faced with somewhat indignant but mostly surprised eyes.

Fenris was a little shocked by his own daring, but the feeling of her skin – even a little – spurred him on. His nightmares had subsided a little in the past weeks, leaving him with tantalizing memories of an entirely different kind. That first night, when he had so stupidly misinterpreted her intention; it wouldn't happen again, for certain, now that he knew her. But all that he had so foolishly overlooked then had been returning to him in slow and agonizing detail.

He found himself kissing her fingers as if they could shatter at the faintest touch, gently reacquainting himself with the taste of her. It was different than her mouth – slow, shallow breaths were escaping her gently parted lips now, a little reminiscent of when he had kissed her with wild abandon – but still fully her, an exotic delicacy in this damned country.

She was an exquisite oddity in this place and he her slave in every sense of the word. If anyone tried to spoil her radiance, they would be answer to his sword. If they were fortunate.

Having something worth protecting seemed to bring out some better qualities in him.

"My apologies, Mistress. It won't happen again." The redness of his Mistress' cheeks had taken a different shade, but she still looked somewhat unhappy. "I wouldn't disobey you."

"You're quite welcome, Fenris." she said tersely and moved away a little. "I think you should go lie down, take the rest of the night off. I can manage now."

"Of course, Mistress."

Fenris didn't try to stop her this time as she got to her feet, a little unstable in her fancy shoes. He idly wondered if there was actually any balancing enchantment or something on them to make sure she didn't break a heel, with the heaviness of her walk.

"Do get some sleep." she said finally, weighting each word carefully. Whatever else she seemed to want to reveal, she decided against doing so. "And… I am thankful for what you did, even if it was unnecessary."

Misguided would be another word she could have used.

"Defending you is never unnecessary, Mistress."

At this, she almost smiled. "You can't defend me from everyone. Some battles are fought differently than you are used to."

"I know. You are good to everyone, even those who hardly deserve it." It was unclear if that was a compliment, given Tevinter opinions about such things. "Nothing like Danarius." For the first time, he was able to speak the hated name without tasting blind rage.

"Thank you." His Mistress said finally, folding the red scarf she had removed neatly and handing it back to him. It wasn't merely a standard for the night… it was a gift. "You can tie this back in the morning, if you wish. Leave it as it is for now."

"Thank you, Mis-… thank you." Fenris amended, seeing the light in her face dim at the formal term of address. He couldn't quite speak her name; it was too audacious to even think it. It didn't stop him from doing so, but still… "May I help you with your jewelry?" he asked to shift the attention elsewhere. "I assume you don't wish to wake your maids this early in the morning."

Illyria blinked, finally awarded him with a smile filled with light, and agreed.


	14. Note on updates

NEW NOTE: I am currently rereading this story to establish the next plotline. It is among those listed to be finished. Please stand by. :)


	15. Thirteen

The long-awaited update is here. All new content, with some surprises, perhaps, and the plot will be progressing. I took some inspiration from the DAII scenes for this one. It's also a bit less mushy than the previous chapters.

As always, read, enjoy, and please review.

**o.O.o**

**Thirteen**

**o.O.o**

The last thing Illyria wanted to experience was upper class gossip at the start of her new day, so she made a point of announcing at breakfast that the family would be going to town. There was no explanation regarding what had prompted that decision and no retelling of the story of the previous night. Leandra had attempted to find out how things had gone, but whenever she attempted to catch her eldest child's eye, her daughter would immediately grab a glass or a piece of food. Things were somewhat bettered by the fact that she had sent a somewhat reluctant Fenris off to the armory (again, something they apparently had, along with a blacksmith on call) for a routine gear checkup, saying that she needed no protection from the horrors of toast.

Also, the later she was reminded of yesterday's events and her less than proper conduct, the better. So she shoveled food into her mouth silently.

"That bad?" Carver said with a grimace after the third time it happened. "Are you sure we don't have to start packing up yet?" That actually earned him a napkin being thrown at him. Given that it was a piece of fabric, it didn't necessarily land anywhere near him, so the grimace turned into a smirk. "You were always a terrible archer, sister."

"Mind your own affairs, little brother." Illyria noted sagely, looking as if she was half-considering sticking out her tongue at him. "You haven't had the chance to leave this estate since we came, so I thought a change of scenery might do you all good. We aren't limited in the city anymore – there are actually some nice parts of town we might not be run out of this time."

"If you say so, darling." Leandra seemed doubtful and ready to start the conversation that really interested her, but hesitated a moment. "Perhaps we could get some new clothes for your siblings as well? I understand you were outfitted by the best, but we have had little opportunity."

"Of course, Mama. Whatever you wish – perhaps you'd like to make a list of things we need?"

"Shopping for clothes. Lovely. Do I have to go?"

"You need some fresh clothes, darling. Plus, I can't mend that hole in your boot again, it'll just tear again."

"You might actually enjoy it once in a while, Carver." Bethany quipped, "Or do you intend on sleeping in the same old undershirt forever."

Surrounded by smiling women, Carver's ears reddened slightly. "Fine, but I'm just coming along to protect Mother."

It was just the moment for Rufus to come in with a polite bow and rescue the unfortunate youngest sibling – even Bethany sort of viewed him as younger, as far as teasing was concerned – from some kind of rebuttal.

"Pardon the intrusion, Mistress. I thought you might be interested in a suggestion that came from one of our merchants. You were looking for a person to help with the management of your financial affairs. There's a person that might fit your requirements, and he's in town if our people are to be believed."

The rest of the family had settled back into comfortable breakfast conversation, listening only with half an ear, particularly when Illyria nodded and Rufus produced a piece of paper with a few names and instructions.

"This seems interesting. Are you sure this man will be there?"

"Yes, Mistress. He should have just arrived in the city yesterday and usually stays for several days. The company his family owns deals with rare artifacts in Minrathous, which is always interesting for the magocracy."

The business described seemed to be doing relatively well, considering that it was being run by foreigners. They mostly imported odds and ends from other parts of Thedas, if the inventory lists were to be believed. It was also under a name that sounded vaguely Fereldan, but Illyria couldn't quite place it. In any case, it wasn't Tevinter, which was mostly enough for her.

"Very well. The instructions are sufficient; thank you very much, Rufus."

"Will we be diverted somewhere else today?"

"Not to worry Mama, this is just a small errand I would like to run before we get to the market." Illyria assured her quickly. If this person was indeed as good as the captains' recommendations stated, then they were well-worth at least checking out.

"We can accompany you." Leandra said happily, "We will save time that way." Illyria tried to object, but her mother would have none of it. "I'd like to see more of the city, now that we can actually roam around freely. And I have Carver around to protect me."

She might have just said it because it made her child feel manly once more – if the puffed out chest was any indication. But she stood by her point.

"It might do us all good to know our way around the city somewhat better." Bethany admitted when prodded for her opinion. "I'd also like to meet this person you're so anxious to see."

"Very well," Illyria sighed. It would be somewhat difficult to keep track of them all, but not impossible. "It'll be a different experience to our previous journeys to town, though. I want everyone to be careful about their possessions, and themselves most of all."

Carver rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mother. We'll hold hands and not leave our group unless asked to."

"This is no laughing matter, Carver. Just because we're nobility doesn't mean we're safe here."

"I doubt we'll ever be safe anywhere, Mother." he said to his actual mother. "But, worst case scenario, we can sic Lyri and her attack dog on them."

"In that case, you go first, brother dear." Illyria deftly caught the napkin sent back her way and folded it back into place as if nothing had happened.

Ignored by all, Bethany sighed quietly. This was going to be a long day.

**o.O.o**

One of the less grand carriages was prepared for their little adventure, which meant that by Fereldan standards, they were still going to be travelling about pompously enough to put Orlesian expats to shame. It was something of a novelty even to Leandra, whose memory of riding around in nice carriages wasn't too tarnished for her to make out. Yet they actually didn't look too ostentatious when surrounded by other carriages of the nobility – just garish enough to make them especially noticeable. There were also apparently petitioners starting to line up at the newly rechristened Hawke estate, who appeared either disappointed or dejected when they saw the objects of their journey vanish into town in their transport.

Minrathous was a vibrant city; the largest in Thedas, and limited only by the island it was built on. And that was just horizontally; there were sizeable catacombs underneath the main structure, quite capable of holding twice the population. A single bridge separated it from the mainland, making it a highly difficult target for any invasion other than one by sea. Considering that the high walls had never fallen, the remnants of the protective golems still patrolled the city and magic was ever-present, any attacker was either very foolish or very suicidal. Even Andraste herself had failed to conquer the city – what chance did anyone else have?

It was one of the many reasons the Hawke family had fled there. If there was any place in the world where mages – if only a part of them – was protected and protected well, it was this place. The many spires towered above the little houses most noticeable of all the Argent Spire, where the Black Divine resided, ironically a tower of shimmering silver.

Illyria had actually had to specify what docks they were heading to – there were so many ports in Minrathous. If they didn't have precise instructions, they might have spent hours, if not days, searching the island. The Lovely Lucita was the main of three ships they were supposed to be looking for, docked near the eastern edge of the city. That alone made it clear that this wasn't a local ship – that part of the docks was reserved for travelers from a distance. The description didn't really specify where the traders were from, just that they had an impressive list of satisfied clients.

They had an armed escort of two soldiers with them, just in case. There wasn't enough room in the carriage for more than four people; moreover, it would have looked very peculiar indeed if she allowed Fenris inside when there was no cause for it, so Illyria conceded to expectations and allowed the elf to ride at the back, scaring off any possible stalkers. And, indeed, there might have been some otherwise, since almost everyone turned to see a magister's carriage, even when they went through the more affluent parts of town. The slightly seedier ones had even more observers lurking around.

Once they reached the docks, no one was even attempting to hide it when their heads turned. Particularly when the Hawke sisters exited the carriage.

"It might be best if you stayed here, Mama." Illyria suggested, while Bethany looked around to take in her surroundings. "Carver can protect you if something happens, and I'll leave the guards with you as well."

"If you're certain, dear. But it really wouldn't be a bother for me to come along."

"I'll stand guard outside so you can finish your list, Mother." Carver was out of the carriage surprisingly quickly, given that he had chosen to don his armor. It was the best they could find among their supplies, nothing fancy, not fitting entirely correctly, but much better made than the leathers he had previously owned. If there was something that had gotten the boy to perk up somewhat, it was the possible visit to quality armorers and blacksmiths, so that he could both investigate their work and look for something for himself. "The rabble around here needs to see a sword to give us a wide berth while Lyri is gone - you're going with my sister, aren't you?"

Fenris, who had slid to stand behind the Hawke sisters like a shadow (edging just a little closer to Illyria than Bethany's side), appeared surprised to be addressed by his Mistress's brother for just an instant before bowing his gaze. "Yes, Lord Carver. As always."

It would have been unkind to say that Carver obviously enjoyed being addressed as "lord", but there it was. "Good." he said curtly, attempting to hide it – credit had to be given for that. "Are you going too, Beth?"

"Bethany, I'd prefer if you stayed here with us. Surely your sister can handle things."

"I'll be fine, Mama." Bethany retorted with a slightly forced smile. "I think the people here understand swords better than magic, so you'll manage well enough without me. Besides, Lyri might also need some help to see if this person we're meeting is to the family's tastes. You know her taste is usually skewered."

"Hey! I have good taste!"

The younger Hawke sister quietly rolled her eyes. "Green unicorns." she said simply, and all the Magister could do was shoot her a glare.

"Do you constantly have to bring that up?" Illyria asked when they were out of earshot of the rest of the group.

"It's just difficult to forget your artistic phase, Sister."

"I was seven!" It was difficult to ignore that the undercurrent of mischief meant that some of the old Bethany was returning – the side of her sister Illyria hadn't seen in months, if not years.

"And highly inclined towards finger-painting, if I remember correctly." Bethany added, dodging a number of crates deftly. "I don't believe we've needed to ever do as much washing and scrubbing as we did then."

"This shopping trip might top even that, given Mother's tastes."

"It'll cheer her up and allow her to see some of the city. Don't tell me she doesn't deserve it after all this time. But tell me honestly, can we afford this? I mean, you know we'll need much more than a few dresses."

"We can." Illyria said easily, "I haven't even gotten through the majority of the accounts, but we can." She just needed to ensure that the money would continue pouring in, that was all.

"Well, that's somewhat of a relief." Bethany conceded, "Now, tell me about this person we're meeting. Rufus told me you're on the hunt for a replacement steward."

"That's not it at all - I'll have to sort that out with him. No, what I need is someone to help me out with- hey!"

The reason none of them anticipated the pickpocket bumping into Illyria was that they really didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to chance it – let alone go straight for her. It was almost too outrageous to even remotely be considered plausible, since it was clear from her appearance that she was a mage. Or at least, clear to her own party. Likely the pickpocket was a foreigner who had not yet seen an actual Magister with his own eyes and just saw two richly dressed women heading his way, engrossed in conversation, and chose to go for the one who was more distracted, at least to his eyes.

It was actually fortunate for the thief that he appeared so unthreatening and the attack so unlikely, because otherwise, he would have ended up armless or headless very quickly. Fenris was on the lookout for more obvious threats – the sign of a weapon, aggressive body language, that kind of thing. The elf was also trailing behind them a bit out of their way, giving even more emphasis to both his status and function. It also served to make him more noticeable in general.

Bethany hadn't yet gotten into the mindset of thinking they were worthwhile targets for any pickpocket worth their salt. Well, at least that was a sure sign they had risen in the world, she would think in hindsight.

As for Illyria, it was a combination of shock that someone would be so stupid and the lack of any immediate stun spell coming to mind. Her arsenal mostly consisted of combat magic that would take some time to stop working or would result in permanent damage.

The man (an ordinary human, possibly a refugee, one could never tell, but clearly desperate) was quite fast as well, but subtlety wasn't his strong suit. His strength lay in knowing how to navigate the busy docks and the many alleyways. Illyria was more concerned with not having to deal her first impression on her target being her slaying someone, but she was still too slow to stop her sister from bolting after the thief.

She knew full well that Bethany could handle herself, but putting that thought into action was very different than just realizing it. And so, she quickly followed, just to make certain. She didn't have to care that much about a little pouch of gold anymore, in any case. Fenris was being a bit useless, she thought, slightly irked, but it was likely because if he was to choose which target to protect, she was the priority.

Fortunately, Bethany didn't get too far, and neither did the thief. For that much, Illyria was glad – running around in heavy robes (her sister had gotten away with a lighter outfit, since she hadn't been saddled with unwanted gifts, the lucky wench) was much more difficult than it looked. And it looked difficult enough.

Had she been paying attention to more than locating her sister's dark head, she would have heard the twang more clearly. For Fenris, that was the first thing he noticed, as well as the grunt of pain when the bolt found its target. There was only one armed attacker around, and it appeared that neither his Mistress nor her sister were his intended target.

Lady Bethany stood a few feet away from their inept pickpocket, now pinned to the nearest cargo crate eyed nervously by the nearest dockworkers. However, the general attention was focused on the man – well, dwarf, to be more precise – who had almost casually apprehended the moving target.

"I swear, these docks are sinking deeper and deeper on the class ladder every day." The thief was audibly whimpering now, though perhaps only partly due to the pain. The dwarf sauntered towards him with the air of a carefree confidence, holding out his hand expectantly. "Next thing you know, we might have common pickpockets replacing the true connoisseurs of the unwary rich polluting the streets." The small pouch was obligingly dropped into the dwarf's hand, and, in return, the crossbow bolt was removed from the thief's aching arm with a short tug. "Word to the wise – hop back onto whatever ship brought you here and get out of this place. You'll not survive long otherwise."

The thief took this as a threat, but upon reflection, it was more like a warning filled with pity. Any man who didn't recognize a magister on sight wouldn't find any luck in a city filled with them.

"I must apologize for the rudeness of this welcome to you this morning." Illyria caught the pouch, which was far heavier than the napkin she had been tossing around with Carver previously, and returned it to its place on her belt. Her uncanny rescuer apparently also had stellar manners, not just aim. "We want to run a respectable establishment around here, but some of these louts just keep dragging down the class of this side of the city."

"A dwarf in Minrathous? That is indeed a rare sight."

Illyria hadn't met many dwarves in her time, but most of them had adhered to one of two stereotypes: axe-wielding barbarian or oil-tongued cheap ware salesman. This one was too richly dressed for the former and too attached to subconsciously stroking his rather bulky crossbow for the latter. He smiled in a carefree, mischievous fashion that would have more easily robbed any mark of its gold than the whole bump-and-run scenario the other guy had tried to pull.

"So is an upstart Magister from Ferelden, as far as I'm aware, yet here we are." The way he twisted the arrow between his fingers, one would have thought he did this every day, just as a diversion. "Varric Tethras, at your service, milady." he announced to the world at large with a tiny bow.

"Charmed." And she was, that was the honest truth. Were it not so entirely defying her expectations and yet fulfilling them to the max, she might have laughed a bit. This was the person she had been looking for, though her instructions had carelessly managed to forget to specify that her target was a dwarf. "Illyria Hawke, but you knew that already."

Varric laughed a little. "I might have, though my little bird told me I should also be wary of not addressing you so casually, Magister." The undamaged bolt was returned to its quiver, and the heavy crossbow was also returned to its place with deft reverence. "Now, what brings you to my comfortable neck of the woods? It couldn't be the classy lodgings."

"I heard that someone around here could make a skilled administrator for some extensive business arrangements." Illyria said, cutting to the chase immediately. Bethany looked from the dwarf to her sister. _This_ was the person someone had recommended to them? How was this man connected to Danarius? Perhaps this trip was actually going to be somewhat interesting beyond having to hide all the ugly hats from Mama.

"Well now, such a person would indeed have to be quite proficient. What kind of business are we talking about?"

They had settled into a casual stroll down the docks without even realizing it. Bethany picked up her pace a little bit when she saw she was falling behind a little bit and almost walking alongside Fenris. The elf continued to unnerve her more than anything else she had thus encountered in Danarius's estate, possibly because he was so closely tied to the more disturbing things she had found in the library. Also, she always sort of felt that the stare he gave her, no matter how polite, was still something he would have usually directed at a rival mage. Or a weaker version of that kind of look, in any case.

Still, Lyri seemed to be rather comfortable around him, which gave her some small degree of trust in his abilities, if nothing else. Her sister was usually a good judge of character.

"I assume you're aware that I inherited all the possessions of the recently deceased Magister Danarius." Illyria was saying, which brought Bethany back to reality and made her jog a little to catch up with her sister and the dwarf. "That includes all his businesses, investments and properties."

"Ah yes. Then I assume the majority of this business will involve the more delicate aspects of Tevinter society." Were Varric the kind of dwarf that made faces, he likely would have done so. He even stopped for a bit, reluctant to lead them anywhere else if this was the way of things. "I'm sorry Magister, but I don't think I'm the right man for that kind of thing. Call me a prude if you must, but if there's anything Bianca can't stand, it's me not being a gentleman at the worst of times."

"Bianca?"

"The lady of my heart." Varic motioned towards the crossbow when she asked, then offered a clearly practiced look of polite regret. "So sorry if I've disappointed you."

They had by now reached a wide array of merchant ships docked near a large loading dock. Something in the distance must have caught Bethany's interest, because she wandered off to get a closer look without even asking. Illyria was rather easily distracted, especially by things going in her favor, but not enough to disregard her own sister. When she noticed her moving past Varric, she quickly glanced at Fenris, who took the hint, if with something resembling mild disapproval.

One would think that after yesterday, he'd have seen that she could hold her own. Or perhaps it was her choice in companions he questioned, but there was really no time to debate that. She could have something good starting to shape around here and wasn't about to screw it up.

"Actually, I was hoping you'd say something like that. You then might be interested in hearing that I hope to introduce some changes in the way my affairs are being run."

The raised eyebrow meant that the dwarf was interested, but not altogether surprised. Somehow, it wasn't surprising to her either. If this Varric was half as good as the merchant captains said, he ought to know plenty about Danarius and how his organization had been run, let alone who she wasn.

"Well now, that would sound mighty interesting to the right people… and potentially the wrong ones too. Though I can't help but notice the interesting company you keep." It certainly wasn't her sister he was referring to – the family resemblance was there, no matter how different their coloring. "Now, I wouldn't dream of calling a Tevinter Magister a liar, but you have to understand that it stands a bit in contrast to what you're saying here."

_You have a slave with you, which sort of undermines your claims to change._

Illyria straightened stiffly. "As I said, I inherited the entire estate of the late Danarius, personnel included."

"His slaves." Well, at least he wasn't one to mince words. That was good.

"Yes. I've only been settled in for a short while and I'm sure a businessman such as yourself understands the dangers of, shall we say, rocking the boat before your anchor is away?"

"Of course." Varric nodded pensively. "An established reputation is a businessman's best weapon."

"I think we see eye to eye on things, Master Tethras. Fenris is my bodyguard."

"And so I win yet another bet with myself. Fascinating brooding technique, by the way." he addressed beyond Illyria's shoulder, and she turned for a moment to see said bodyguard had returned, without Bethany in tow. "You could tell that guy was just a rookie by his ignoring it. Either that, or he was really desperate."

"I do not brood." Illyria heard the elf reply curtly, and having turned away was the one thing that managed to save her from cracking a little smile.

"Subconscious brooding. What a talent." Varric couldn't resist adding a little faux-complimentary whistle. The elf simply glowered at him, which he shrugged off with finesse. "In any case, I'd have to have a look at the particularities of your business ventures before agreeing to anything. I'm only one dwarf, after all, no matter how potent and amazing, and still have to look after the family business, such as it is."

Bethany seemed to be safe, just observing some ships at a dock not too far away. Nobody dared approach her this time, and Fenris seemed to still be watching her. Well, she'd talk with him about that later, but for now, it was fine.

"What brings a refined dwarf such as yourself to Minrathous? We're quite far from any of the thaigs."

"I was born on the surface, but my brother Bartrand could likely wax poetic about the halls of Orzammar for hours. House Tethras was exiled before I was born for some grievance or another. Since then, we go where the trade winds blow us. Ferelden still has an outdated look on surface dwarves, as I'm sure you're aware. Maker forbid anyone considers me an armorer one more time."

"So what _do_ you deal in?"

"Antiques. Rare artifacts. Anything that gets the blood of the rich, wise and skinny pumping." Varric shrugged off-handedly, pointing them towards the nearby ships. Lucky Lucita was nearby, with a veritable enclave of dwarves fiddling around with all sorts of precious cargo. "And there's always the good old-fashioned gold."

"You're scavengers." Note to self: Fenris definitely didn't like him, if he actually bothered to speak up without being prodded.

The dwarf, however, didn't seem to take much offence – perhaps he was even somewhat diverted by the fact that Illyria allowed her ostensive slave to speak without reprimand. "We prefer the term gentlemen traders. Or adventurers, regarding the first bit. In the end, we buy as much as we recover."

"I'm sure Minrathous has quite a few potential buyers for your items."

"Indeed – you might be interested yourself." That was true enough, especially if they brought some Fereldan things with them as well. Sometimes, Illyria missed home. Not for its Templars, of course, but for the more simple pleasures of life. If these traders dealt in only precious things, however, she might not have much luck. Still, there was hope. "But there'll be time enough for that later on – your friend is apparently returning."

Illyria finally realized that she hadn't bothered to introduce her sister to this man, even though he likely already knew at least a bit about who she was. If not, he must have guessed. "Where are my manners? This is my sister, Bethany Hawke. This is Varric Tethras, hopefully our future financial advisor."

"Advisor?" Varric liked the sound of that, if the chuckle was anything to go by. "Now that sounds very official to me. Charmed, for certain."

"Hello." Bethany was a lot more rigid than when she had left, and a lot more absent-minded in her greeting. "Lyri, you should come see this."

"We still have some negotiations to deal with, Beth." Something was up, but not an immediate threat. Seeing her sister in distress was no pleasing thing, but surely this could wait, whatever it was.

It seemed that Varric had a good idea of what it might be, given that his expression hardened just a touch. "Oh, I wouldn't recommend going over there." he said, nodding towards the exact part of the docks Bethany had been observing.

"Why not?"

"Let's just say that the people over there are part of the business ventures you hope to change."

"They're loading out new slaves." Bethany almost shivered, and did everything in her power not to look at Fenris, even though she wasn't entirely successful. "I've never seen it from so close."

"It's best you don't go back there." Varric noted sagely, directing them all towards Lucky Lucita and the other merchant ships. "Some of the slavers might not ask before trying to introduce you not just to their stock, but the inside of their cages."

"I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can, Sunshine. It's the sailors I'm protecting, from having their hearts and noses broken if they start any amorous advances."

Bethany blinked, a bit surprised to be called anything remotely flattering, but then ventured a guess. "They must be taking the prisoners to the main marketplace. We're going there, aren't we?"

"Why would you want to see such things up close?" Illyria wondered, also glancing briefly at Fenris. The elf stood behind her like a statue, observing the passing dwarven workers without much interest. Somehow, it struck her as a bad sign.

"I don't know. I guess I always thought we might end up there ourselves." the younger mage noted quietly. "I just… feel I need to see it, that's all."

"If you don't mind the company, I can tag along to the market." Varric suggested, steering the conversation away from uncomfortable waters. He had quickly arranged something with an underling or two while the Hawke sisters were huddled together – he was efficient, alright. "We can discuss your ideas in further detail and Bianca and I can perhaps help introduce you to the art of haggling."

"We came by carriage - I'm not quite certain another person will fit inside. Perhaps we could lend you a horse?" Illyria wasn't sure if she was following his lead and deliberately trying to clear the air, or just felt like conjuring up a nonsensical mental image. In any case, the dwarf laughed, and for a moment, the grim conversation topic was gone.

"Tempting as that might be, if there's still room by your coachman, I'll pass. Afterwards, we can discuss business over a drink – if there's two things you'll always find in Minrathous, it's overpriced Orlesian wine and bartenders who know a trick or two."


End file.
